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“Where are we living?”
“Right on Bellevue Avenue in Upper Montclair, one block from your gym. I rented us an apartment with
one and a half bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom, and a galley kitchen. I’ll use the half bedroom as a combo bedroom and computer station. We’ll be fine.” “Wasn’t that expensive?”
“Not too bad. Plus, we have my income, your inheritance, and the gold mine of a gym you’re about to launch.”
“Does the landlord allow pets?”
Milo grinned. “Still dead set on getting that dog, I see. Well, you’ll have your wish. Pets are allowed. But I’m not cleaning up turds, so the training’s on you.”
“Fair enough.” Lisa glanced at Milo’s keyboard, which he was now pounding on again. “What are you doing?”
“A whole bunch of things, Julie.” He kept using her new name so it would sink in and become her own. “I logged on as you. I’m now emailing your landlord, telling him you got a sudden out-of-town job and had to relocate ASAP. I told him to charge your credit card for the duration of your lease so he’s appeased and doesn’t raise any red flags. I know the rental house was furnished, but I’m letting him know that he can sell everything else, donate it to charity, whatever, and to keep the proceeds for his trouble.”
“Oh.” Lisa was trying to process everything Milo was saying.
“I’m also emailing your two gym bosses, Kristen and Nora, and explaining that you’re leaving town. I scanned an article from the Sun-Times reporting Lisa’s death, and I’m attaching it to the emails. I’m saying that, after living with someone who was shot to death right in front of your house, you’re too freaked out to work. That you’ve got to get out of Chicago. I’m sending your apologies for the lack of notice and any inconvenience it causes them, and asking them to email any unemployment paperwork. Blah, blah, blah.”
Milo paused and gave a baffled shrug. “Kristen and Nora are both females. Statistics say that females are far more motivated by feelings than males are; I’ve read that in several reliable sources. So, they’ll understand where you’re coming from and forgive you. I don’t get it, but that’s how it will go down.”
“I guess.” Lisa tucked her hair behind her ear. She was still getting used to this new angled style, although she’d really admired it on Julie.
The old Julie. The dead Julie.
She shuddered. “Milo, do you really think we’ll be able to pull this off? I mean, I can memorize anything and pass any test. But becoming another person…” She broke off, glancing quickly around as she recalled what Milo had said about talking about this among people.
“Not a doubt, Julie,” he replied. “You’re going to create a gym that everyone will want to join. Just read your book, do your magic memorizing thing, and the suburban women will be breaking down your doors to sign up for the diamond package.”
His brow creased as he began pounding into the computer again. “In the meantime, I’m getting us a backdoor exit, a way to vanish if something unforeseen blows up in our face.”
“What do you mean?”
Milo leaned forward and stabbed at her book with his forefinger. “Read. Do what you do best. Leave the rest to me.”
“All right.” The new Julie Forman turned to the next page in the manual and began to absorb the required information.
Milo was never one to let grass grow under his feet. He’d seen sure things turn to shit way too often. He’d mentioned the backdoor plan offhandedly to the new Julie, but his task was very real, very difficult, and very imperative. He had to make sure they could vanish on a dime if need be.
With that in mind, he fired up Freenet and went to the Nerdageddon index. He appreciated the anonymity that the darknet offered, although he hated how it had become a haven for child pornography. At least Nerdageddon tried to filter out that crap, and Freenet would keep his activity hidden from others.
What he needed now was a link to a discussion board of security experts who understood how people could be tracked. Some of it was obvious, like social security numbers, driver’s licenses, bank accounts. But even frequent shopper cards, patterns of Amazon purchases, etc. could be linked to individuals, even their cell phones. These were the avatars in the know. Disappearing off the grid was not easy in today’s digitally linked world. He needed advice and he needed it fast.
It took him a while. Then—success. He found the right link. A chat room called Kerberos. The double entendre was fitting. Kerberos was a computer authentication protocol developed at MIT and widely used on the Internet to prove one’s identity. It also referred to the three-headed dog guarding the entrance of the Underworld, making sure no one got in or out.
Milo added himself to the chat room, adding the screen name “ScoobyDoo” and an appropriate picture. Milo grinned at the irony of ScoobyDoo and Kerberos—two diametrically opposed personalities in the world of fictional canines.
He posted his question: “How can someone leave his prior identity behind and become a totally new person?” He turned on the notification so as answers were posted to his question, he would receive a notification to return to the Kerberos chat room and read them.
Now all he could do was wait and hope that the right geniuses would answer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Slava Petrovich—or Slava the Slayer, as he was known for his cold and brutal executions—slammed down the newspaper clipping and rose menacingly from behind his desk. He was an odd contradiction—he looked like a cross between a bulldog and a prizefighter, yet he dressed in expensive Italian suits and had an office befitting the high-level business executive that he was—sometimes.
Now his voice—speaking entirely in Russian—reverberated around the room, and his eyes were blazing. “You killed the wrong goddamn woman.”
Alexei swallowed. “It looked just like her. She went to Apex, pulled all this shit, and copied it.” He gestured at the bag he’d dumped on Slava’s desk, with all the file pages and receipts that Julie had confiscated and photocopied.
“You fucking idiot, that wasn’t her,” Slava snapped. “That was the bitch who was staying with her, the one she got the job for. Julie Forman must have paid her to do her dirty work, so you assholes would follow her and blow her away. Which is exactly what you did. Now the useless whore is dead, and Julie Forman is God knows where. She ditched her apartment and took off.”
