Crusher’s hand tightened briefly around hers, then he tensed and released her hand altogether, presumably gearing up for a fight if needed.
A shiver of apprehension slithered down Marta’s spine.
The young man hurried into the dark room lit by black-light bulbs. Posters of Dia de los Muertos figures papered the wall, reflecting the light in a glow-in-the-dark design that was a disturbing cross between cheerful and morbid.
“Close and lock the door,” their host commanded without looking their way. “You can have a seat while I get things ready.”
“Ready for what?” Marta asked.
He flipped a switch on the wall that ignited an overhead light, overpowering the black-light poster of skeletal figures beating on other figures, a cartoonish drawing that wouldn’t scare a child. A normal, maybe sixty-watt bulb dangled from a cord stapled to the ceiling.
The young man touched a mouse next to a keyboard, clicked several keys and hit the enter button. “Lady, take a seat in the chair across from me and look at the camera on my computer monitor.” He tapped the camera hooked over the top of the screen.
Marta shook her head in confusion. “Excuse me? Who are you, and why did you bring us here?”
“I’m Stewart. You are the people Royce sent, aren’t you?”
Crusher nodded, though Stewart’s back was to them. “We are.”
The young man turned, his brow wrinkling. “Royce said you needed new identities. Now, do you want them or not? I don’t have all day.”
Marta met Crusher’s gaze.
He gave a brief nod and addressed the young man. “Sorry, Royce didn’t give us all the details, just a set of coordinates.”
Stewart shook his head. “The man is a great leader, but not always a good communicator.” He sighed and refocused his attention on the keyboard and monitor. “He said you needed new forms of identification. He was specific that they should not reflect your true identity. Something about a cartel out for blood…?” The young man waved a hand over his shoulder. “Whatever the reason, I can give you a new identity if you want it. Otherwise, you know the way out.”
He worked the keyboard silently for a moment before saying, “I assume, since you’re still here, you want the IDs. In that case, miss, please sit in the chair behind me. Is there a name you’d like to associate with your new identity?” he asked without turning.
Marta’s gaze met Crusher’s completely at a loss. She’d never had to consider being called something other than the name her parents had entered on her birth certificate. Though she had once thought about a name she would have called her daughter, had she been fortunate enough to have a girl child someday. She’d always admired one of the most overlooked female scientists in history, Rosalind Franklin, the woman who’d discovered the double helix in DNA.
Marta had always loved the name Rosalind, especially when it was shortened to her favorite flower...the rose. She faced Stewart’s back and said, “Rose.”
“I need a surname as well. You want Smith or Jones?”
“No,” Marta said. “Let me think.” She turned away and paced. Choosing a name wasn’t rocket science or epidemiology. Then why was it so hard? Then she thought of the person who’d sparked her interest in science in the first place. Her father. He’d always been curious about how things worked. His focus had been on the mechanics of machines. Marta’s focus had gone deeper into the mechanics of cells.
“Seriously,” the young man muttered. “We don’t have all day. And if you have a cartel after you, I sure as hell don’t want you to be here long enough for them to find you. I have a business to run, and I don’t need a cartel burning it to the ground.”
“Richard,” Marta blurted. “Rose Richards.”
Stewart keyed the name into his computer. “Now, look at the camera while I capture your image.”
Marta stared at the little camera perched atop the computer monitor and wondered if she should smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the corners of Crusher’s lips twitching.
“How do you and Royce know each other?” Crusher asked the younger man.
Stewart shrugged. “He may or may not have gotten me out of a tight spot with the mafia in Chicago. Apparently, I stepped on their tech guy’s toes and territory. When they threatened to hurt my mother, he called in the big guns from his time in the Army.”
Crusher frowned. “Royce?”
Stewart nodded. “He arranged for us to move from Chicago to Panama on the condition I didn’t tread in illegal activities that benefited criminals.” He snorted. “Now, I generate online content that’s monetized and help Royce out whenever he needs my former skills.” A machine hummed, and moments later, a passport appeared in a tray below it, the same blue color associated with the US. He handed it to Marta. “Check it for any inconsistencies.” Without hesitating, he turned to Crusher. “You’re next. Sit.”
Marta rose from her seat and moved to the other side of the small room, studying the passport with her photograph laminated inside.
Rose Richards.
“Oh, and you’ll need this.” Stewart smashed a stamp on an ink pad and held out his hand. “Open the passport to the first page.”
