The Sand Trap (37 page)

“Give me a break. How could you guarantee
that?”

“We have ways as you know. But that isn’t
relevant. Would you like that?”

Gord had thought his senior tour dream was
long gone.

“For sure. I’m in. What next?”

Mary piped in. “The money, about $5 million
I believe, you have in your Anguilla account is a problem. I assume
your wife doesn’t know it is there nor has access to it. Whoever
has the stolen file does know, so if it was to suddenly start
disappearing it would raise suspicions that you are alive.”

Gord hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t
envision living from his University pension for the rest of his
life. “How do you know how much I have?”

Mary just looked at him over the rim of her
reading glasses, ignored the question and continued. “We’ll get the
Canadian government to confiscate the funds as part of an
investigation into organized crime – happens all the time. To the
bank it is just a numbered account so no names are needed for them.
We will launder the money through the Finance Department and
deposit it into a secure and anonymous account of your
choosing.”

“All $5 million?”

“All $5 million,” Richard assured.

“Tax free?”

“Tax free,” Mary reassured him.

“Ok. I agree to that! I’ll give you an
account number in the Caymans,” Gord quickly assured them. “What
else?”

“We’ll get you a job for the next year as a
teaching pro at a very exclusive Mexican Resort golf course. You
will have minimal duties and 24-hour access to one of the highest
ranked teaching-practice facilities south of Torrey Pines.
Accommodation, meals, beach all included.”

“Damn, I don’t know, how about throwing in
all the free Marguerites I can drink and all of the senoritas I can
fuck? Excuse the language Mary.” Gord looked over at Richard.
“Continue.”

“We’ll create a new identity for you that is
bullet proof so to speak.” Richard offered.

“Ok, tell me more before I agree to this
part of our little contract.”

Mary took over. “This rest of it all was
harder than I had expected. The most foolproof way to create a new
identity is simply to use an old one, preferably from someone who
is either dead or very missing and not likely to be found again. In
your case the person needed to be the same height, age, race and
with a history you could easily adopt. We found one that is pretty
close. This guy disappeared in 1980 and has never been found. He
was into some deep shit with the drug mobs in California, so some
speculate he was buried somewhere in the desert. Others figured he
just ran away and started a new life somewhere. The former is more
likely. At any rate he was not a very nice person. He was thrown
out of his college for some infraction, likely just being the
asshole he apparently was. He spent the next two years after that
doing enforcing work for some shady people. I guess he found a true
calling in breaking legs. He was arrested on some minor drug
charges so we have all his biographical and genetic information, so
there isn’t much we don’t know about him. He had no brothers or
sisters and his parents drowned in a boating accident in 1990.
There were friends from his university days, but as far as we can
tell most of them are dead or have disappeared as well. But what
makes him useful for you, other than size and other physical
feature things is that he was the California State junior golf
champion in 1975. This will be one of the few factual things that
we will leave in his file.”

Gord listened carefully, well aware of
Mary’s ability to access and manipulate any file anywhere in the
world.

“So we are going to start with the police
files in California. The school files are all from the seventies
and are not digital so they would be tough to alter. We think it is
unlikely that if we do our work properly anyone would go look for
those anyhow. We’ll put in your DNA and a photo from 1980. We’ll
leave the minor drug charge there. What young person didn’t do
something minor with drugs in the eighties? We’ll put in the file
that you are likely in Canada hiding out from a loan shark. And
we’ll make it a dead file – “No further action required, no longer
of interest.” Then we will create a paper trail of jobs for you in
Canada, some in the golf business, some in sales. You became a
Canadian citizen in 1993 and recently retired after 20 years
selling life insurance in Toronto. We even have you making a good
showing in several amateur tournaments over the years and you now
have your Canadian PGA designation allowing you to teach anywhere
in Canada. Anyone checking files in any of the places we mention
will find an employment record with impeccable recommendations. Of
course, if anyone actually did an in person investigation they
would discover that no one can remember you.”

“I always wanted to be a golf pro. Am I
still a prick?” Gord asked with a smile, amazed at what Mary said
she had done.

“No, in fact your work reports describe you
as quiet, innocuous and polite. A real gentleman. Someone that is
essentially not very memorable.”

Richard interjected sarcastically. “That’s
so when you make the Champion’s Tour people in your past will all
say that they remember you when they don’t.”

Gord ignored him. “What if I run into one of
this guy's friends from the old days?”

“We thought of that,” Mary offered. “That is
why you are very similar in build, race et cetera. But you do look
different. Quite frankly he was better looking and if someone
looked at you a couple of weeks ago they would never mistake you
for him. So we can partly count on the effects of age. No one would
have seen him for over twenty years, maybe more; so ageing does
change people you know. And we gave nature a little help.” She gave
Gord a mirror. He had been swathed in bandages most of the past
couple of weeks and had not had access to a mirror since they took
the gauze off yesterday. Now that he considered it, he did think it
strange that the bathroom had no mirror. What he saw when he looked
in the mirror was someone with two weeks of beard, extensive
bruising from ear to ear, especially around the eyes and nose, and
scabs all over his face. But he couldn’t find himself.

He sputtered through still swollen lips.
“You did fucking plastic surgery!”

“Only enough so you could fool someone into
thinking you were this guy aged twenty years,” Richard offered in
an apologetic tone. “We had to change the nose and lips a little
for sure. Here is the sharpest photo we could get of the guy from
1978.” Richard pushed a couple of buttons on the computer and a
full screen shot of a good looking, smiling young man standing on a
tee box somewhere. “This is you thirty years ago. The only thing we
can’t change is the colour of your eyes. He had brown eyes and you
are stuck with blue.”

All they said was slowly sinking in to
Gord’s bruised brain. He was someone else and no one had asked him
if he wanted this. All sorts of complications of this identity
change ran through his mind. His voice was still his. His golf
swing was his. His education and knowledge was still his. His
memories were still his. His DNA still his. His erectile
dysfunction still his and he laughed to himself – maybe Mary could
fix that as well?

“What if I had said I didn’t want this?
Isn’t this some sort of human rights violation?”

Richard and Mary both laughed. “We actually
hoped for a moment that you had amnesia from the whack on the head
and we could just tell you who you were,” Richard offered. “But
there are still some ‘Gord’ things that are of interest to us.”

Gord raised his eyebrows. “You, the Agency,
have gone to a lot of trouble to give me a new identity. You’re not
a philanthropic foundation. What do I have to do in return?”

Richard turned very serious and started in a
quiet voice.

“Gord, you will not be able to contact your
family ever again. The only family you will have from now on is the
one we will create for you. You will never again see Gail or the
children. People will look for you and any mistake could mean the
death of your family. You know that. There will be some angry folks
out there if the truth of some deaths and your involvement in those
deaths becomes known.”

Gord didn’t say anything, just nodded. He
had mixed feelings. Gail? I guess that is done. But the kids? His
precious granddaughter? Deep inside him that was hurting.

“You OK with this?” Richard pushed him.

“I’ll let you know in a moment. Carry
on.”

“You are going to have to change some
habits. It is through habits that identity changes are undone. So,
for example, someone who looks for you would simply have to look
for a location that has a spike in sales of Bushmills 16-year-old
malt and they would suspect you.”

“So you want me to quit drinking?”

“Hardly. From what we can gather from your
new identity’s history, tee totaling would not be in character. We
learned that he had a taste for rum, so here is your new best
friend.” Richard handed a bemused Gord the LCBO bag and he
extracted a bottle he had never seen before, a bottle of Botran
Solara 1893 18-year old rum. He looked more closely at the label
and could see that it was from Guatemala.

“Is it any good?”

“Doesn’t matter. It is what you now
drink.”

Gord ripped off the metallic cap cover and
unscrewed the cap. He took a sniff.

“Hmmm, a very good month,” he quipped as he
dumped his water back into the pitcher, poured some of the amber
liquid into the glass and took a sip. He was surprised how smooth
it was. “It’ll do I guess. What else?”

“Your bass playing days are over.”

This pronouncement hit Gord hard. Music had
been an integral part of his life since before he could remember
and playing, even if it was more karaoke than live, was his escape
and often his salvation. “I’m not sure I can do that Richard,” he
responded quietly.

“I didn’t say give up music Gord. I know how
important that has been in your life.”

Mary continued as she handed Gord a new iPad
and turned to the computer. “You have a new iTunes account and
there are six thousand blues pieces loaded into iTunes on this Mac
– that is now yours by the way. I’m sure I missed some of your old
collection, but who uses CDs anymore anyhow? You can add to your
library anytime you want so just see this as a gift to start.”

“Your new identity was something of a
musician as well,” Richard added. “This was just a serendipitous
discovery we made when we were searching his past. Here is your new
instrument.” Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a Lee
Oskar Blues Harp in A and threw it for Gord to catch.

“You’re not serious!” an incredulous Gord
responded.

“Dead serious, if you’ll excuse the pun. The
guy was not that great. He played in a couple of pick up bands that
never went anywhere. So with your musical ability you should not
have trouble catching up on a thirty-year abandoned talent. His
genre was country blues, so you should not have any trouble
explaining the subtle shift to any kind of blues you want.”

Gord fingered the harmonica. “What else?” he
asked in an angry voice.

“No more Tai Chi. That would be a huge give
away to anyone looking for you. We have put in your file that you
started Yoga, Hatha Yoga actually, in the mid nineties and have
become quite proficient in the art. This will allow you to keep
your flexibility without the Tai Chi.”

For some reason this didn’t seem to bother
Gord at all. Right now the thought of anything violent or physical
reminded him of Monica and was uncomfortable. So saying good-bye to
the Tai Chi stuff was, at this moment, a relief. Yoga might even
help his golf game.

“No problem, anything else?”

Mary continued. “Gord these are all things
you need to do to save your life and cement the new identity and
you need to take them seriously. One mistake and you and your
family will be in danger.”

“This suitcase has everything in it that you
will need. New clothes to start you off. Driver’s license. Credit
cards. COSTCO card; there is one in Mexico where you are going to
live. I’ll take a photo today and you’ll get a new passport
tomorrow. In general, these are the cards and ID you would have if
you were a Canadian golf pro going to live and work in Mexico for a
while. There is a new iPhone in there with an international account
in your new name and the phone is preloaded with a collection of
contacts that you would have after 25 years in Canada. There is a
$1000 CDN in cash and $20,000 in a bank account accessible by the
debit card. This will get you started until you get your first
paycheck from the golf course. There is also a first class Air
Canada ticket leaving tomorrow afternoon from Pearson non-stop to
Cabo airport in Mexico.”

“Wow!” Gord was impressed, looking forward
already to a recovery period on a beach in Mexico.

Mary and Richard exchanged satisfied
glances.

“There is one more thing though Gord.”

Richard paused and handed Gord the suitcase
and when he had it, looked at Gord and said, “We have another job
for you.”

Suddenly the warm feelings were gone and
Gord threw the suitcase back at Richard. Richard just knocked the
bag to the floor with his hand.

“So none of this, the new identity, the
money, all the fucking help had nothing to do with helping me at
all. It was all for the Agency. The Hotel California right?”

Neither Mary nor Richard said anything.

“So what happens if I say no to it all?”
Gord knew that was a rhetorical question. He had agreed to the
contract when he became Gord Salmy, the NATO-CDIC agent of mercy,
and he knew there was only one way out of that contract. Now he
knew he would likely have that way out if he rejected what Mary and
Richard had set up. It seemed good alternative for a moment until
he realized that it was not only him who would pay the price, but
his family.