Altered Identity

By Logan Conway

Troy McCoy, owner of “Caught In The Act Detective Agency”, is a quick-witted private investigator making a decent living and quite content catching cheating spouses in the act.
Unknowingly Troy is drawn into the world of Juan Morales, leader of the international “Memoria” drug cartel who is obsessed with the theft of the U.S. government’s top secret ALTERED IDENTITY technology on behalf of a menacing terrorist group.

Troy is also drawn into a deadly, loving relationship with federal agent Ally Clipper.

You will be drawn into Troy McCoy’s world featuring peculiar characters, a story with many unexpected twists and, at times, humorous dialog packed with innuendo.
Read the sample pages of this racy adventure action novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Logan Conway
• Release date: Jun 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781633155558

Book preview

Introduction

The garage door opened at 4807 Green Brier Drive.

Bill Daniels could be seen placing his suitcase and briefcase into the trunk of his black Mercedes C300 sedan. He removed his suit jacket and carefully folded it on top of his luggage in order that it not crease.

As usual on the first day of the month, he retrieved five bill payment envelopes, elastic banded together, from his briefcase to place in his mailbox at the end of his circular drive.

Closing the trunk, he yelled into the house, Let’s go Nancy, Casey, I’ll miss my flight. He scowled thinking in the nineteen years of their marriage, Nancy had always been late for everything. What made him think she was capable of ever being on time much less be a few minutes early? Worse, their son, Casey, was taking right after her.

Walking down his driveway Daniels paused to look approvingly at the new flower bed he constructed over the weekend enhancing the bushes lining the drive. Although laborious it was well worth giving up his Saturday and Sunday to plant 200 pansies, Nancy’s favorite. Of course, she was compelled to quote from a poet, Bret Harte, who lived in the early 1800’s given her American Lit concentration while at Stanford where she and Daniels first met:

"From brute beasts humility I learned;

And in the pansy’s life God’s providence discerned"

Bill didn’t know much about God’s providence but he did know a thing or two about the blisters on his hands from planting all those damned pansies.

Arriving at the mailbox which sat underneath a miniaturized replica of their 4,200 square foot colonial house located on over two acres of pricey McLean, Virginia real estate, Daniels opened the box, placed his outgoing mail inside and swung the postman’s alert flag upright. Hurrying up the drive he looked at his home of nearly ten years as though it would be his last time seeing it before turning his gaze to his wife and 14 year old son toting his book bag rushing to enter the car. His pace quickened.

Approaching the garage Bill shouted to his wife, Nancy, why don’t you drive? I’ll just hop out when we get to the airport. Nancy turned from entering the car’s passenger side to dash to the driver’s side while Casey sat in the back seat yearning for the day he would take the wheel in only 1 year, 10 months and 15 days but, hey, who’s counting?

Once Daniels jumped into the car and buckled up they were good to go. The taillights flashed red, the ignition was started.

Their car explosion was heard throughout the neighborhood followed a few seconds later by a blast of fury when the house’s gas lines detonated resulting in a crater now occupying the space where the Daniels’ home sat only moments before.

The mailbox replica withstood the horrific blasts unscathed as did the 200 pansies.

1

When Juan Morales’ phone rang he glanced at the clock radio on his night stand: 6:53AM, Quito, Ecuador time. A groggy Morales answered, Yes?

Mr. Morales, Tom Swanson here, someone planted a bomb in the Daniels’ car. It exploded in his garage causing his house to also explode. Daniels, his wife and kid were in the car with him.

Are they dead?

Yes, responded Swanson. I’ve emailed a copy of my surveillance video to you.

He glanced out his front study’s window at where the Daniels’ majestic colonial had sat ever since he and his wife, Gretchen, moved across the street from them four years ago. The McLean PD and fire department had already arrived and were blocking off the dead end street which Swanson thought redundant, rarely did any other car venture into their secluded cul de sac.

Did you get anything useful from the house? Asked Morales.

Swanson looked at the five envelopes addressed to Washington Gas, Verizon, American Express, Dominion Electric and Visa. There was nothing in the house to get. It’s a hole in the ground. The local PD is here, won’t be long before the feds arrive. As the words came out of his mouth, he saw navy blue jackets with large bold yellow letters on their backs: some ATF others FBI still others from the secretive BAT. He knew, once they were on the scene, the locals would be sent to do time-out so the big boys could start their investigation.

Morales was silent.

I’d better get over there, Mr. Morales.

Call me back, Morales growled before he hung up.

About to leave his house, Swanson returned to his study to send the Daniels’ envelopes for a ride through his desk drawer shredder.

When he crossed the street he recognized one of his fellow BAT agents: Jim Langstrom.

Langstrom caught sight of Swanson coming his way. See anything, Swanson?

Swanson had worked with Langstrom since Swanson was transferred from the BAT’s New York field office to their Fairfax field office four years ago.

Didn’t see a thing. First explosion woke me up and as I was heading downstairs the second one hit. Damn. Gretchen and I had a cookout with Nancy and Bill last night for God’s sake.

Did you see any cars in the area when you got downstairs and looked over?

Nothing.

I’m going to hang around here most of the morning. You going to Fairfax or DC today?

Swanson responded, DC. Have to meet with Director Benjamin.

Yikes. I worked with her a while ago when I started in Boston and she was appointed Special Agent in charge. A real hard ass. I remember when she came sniffing at Fairfax and found the mole leaking to the Iranians?

Jim Morris? I forgot about him. What’s she want with me?

One of the ATFs standing in the side-less and roofless garage called, Agent Langstrom, over here.

Langstrom left a now concerned Swanson curbside to check the ATF’s discovery.

2

One of the Mazzone Italian Food Importers’ delivery trucks entered the fence fortified facility and stopped to be cleared by the security guard before proceeding to the rear of the building to reload for more area supermarket deliveries. The guard directed the company’s deliveryman to dock 6.

Two beeps later, the heavy metal door rose allowing the truck to back into an empty slot where 8 pallets of varied Italian food products waited to be loaded. Under the watchful eyes of the loading dock manager, the impervious garage door closed with a secure thud. The manager unlocked the truck’s padlocked rear door which effortlessly rolled to the top.

Hi Bill, Mrs. Daniels and young man. Hope you enjoyed your ride in the finest style The Company could provide.

Bill Daniels was the first to leave his family’s traveling cube, Hey, Joe. The truck served its purpose. This is my wife, Nancy, and son, Casey.

Nancy looked at burley Joe, I’ve heard so much about you over the years, Mr. Noonan. I had no idea you moonlighted working on a loading dock.

Noonan laughed, Times are tough, Nancy. You take all the extra work you can get.

Casey offered to help as long as he could drive the pallet truck.

Noonan replied, Not today, Casey. Come back and see me in a few years.

After he led the Daniels’ into his office, he picked up his phone and punched in a numeric code sequence, then he repeated it. Immediately side bolts came out of the office door extending into the metal door frame. Once a single ring was heard on the desk phone, the back wall began turning and revealed another room.

When all four were in the concealed room, the office wall closed and sealed. Noonan walked over to what appeared to be a picture of a wheat field and placed his right hand’s palm and fingertips on top of the lower right corner of the picture while he stood directly in front of it. A scan of his face, eyes, palm and fingertips took only seconds before a flashing 2 appeared in the upper right of the portrait.

Suddenly a side wall panel rose through the ceiling exposing an elevator with its doors open.

Casey was excited, Wow. Way too cool.

Noonan chuckled, You think this is way cool, wait until you see where your dad works.

Nancy turned to Daniels and said, I thought you worked in DC.

Noonan nodded to Daniels as he knew in a day or two, Mrs. Daniels would have a completely altered identity making it impossible to recall this or any previous conversation she ever had in her life.

I sort of work in DC but mostly here.

Nancy pressed her husband, Underneath a pasta place?

Noonan smiled. Daniels answered, I guess you can say that.

Nancy rolled her eyes as the elevator doors opened to a beehive of activity. People rushing in all directions. Arms filled with file folders, iPads, and half-eaten breakfast sandwiches or fiber bars. Some shouting back excuse me as they nearly knocked you to the floor in their haste.

When Noonan was within shouting distance of the reception desk, a harried receptionist-switchboard operator-resident Gestapo said, Mr. Noonan, conference room 7, the others are waiting.

Thank you, Noonan called back while opening a side door for the Daniels family.

Nancy whispered to Daniels, This is insanity. Those people are going to kill someone the way they’re scurrying.

Noonan overheard the whisper and whispered back, They only kill two a week. He chuckled, Don’t worry, our quota for this week has already been met.

Nancy, The Company only hires the best, reassuringly added Daniels.

All remained quiet as they made their way along the noise absorbing taupe carpeted walls and brown carpeted hallway floors. Nancy found the silence deafening considering the mayhem taking place in the main lobby. Arriving at CR7, Noonan held the door while the Daniels walked in. All banter from those in attendance ceased as Noonan took his place at the head of the oversized conference table.

Gesturing to the Daniels family, Noonan remarked, Please, have a seat.

Daniels and Casey sat while Nancy continued to stand, gazing around the room at the other 34 people before sitting down next to her husband. What the hell’s going on, Bill?

Noonan stood, Perhaps I can answer that for you, Nancy. Bill has been the lead scientist on a classified life altering program here at the Altered Identity Laboratory or, as we refer to it, AIL.

Mr. Noonan, that’s impossible. My husband’s works for the Bureau of Anti-Terrorism. He’s computer programmer and even refers to himself as BATman. He and our neighbor Tom Swanson even work together in the DC office. At times they car pool.

There are days when your husband does meet with officials at the DC bureau. I can assure you Bill is there discussing AIL matters.

Nancy moved deeper into her seat wondering what else has been kept from her.

Noonan continued, Our AIL program is operated from this cloistered bunker 100 feet below the above Mazzone building which serves as our front.

Casey commented, Way, cool. We’re like 10 floors underground.

Some of the agents snickered, Noonan reached down to the conference table and pressed two buttons: one to dim the lights and the other slowly dropped a screen from the ceiling. He picked up a remote to control the slides in his presentation.

A picture of the 100,000 square foot AIL facility appeared on the screen as Noonan explained, Dr. Daniels supervised a team of scientists in developing our Altered Identity project. Its initial purpose was to transform the identity of other countries’ spies who had been turned by one of our agencies and Americanize them to such a degree that not only will they look, talk and think like an American but totally forget their past lives. Thereby truly transforming them into their new identity.

An incredulous Nancy asked, What about if they have a tattoo stating ‘I love Moscow’ on their butt? Or some other identifying mark linking them to their past?

A man from in back of the room stood, I’m Dr. Kelleher. Perhaps I can address Mrs. Daniels’ question, Director Noonan.

Noonan nodded at Kelleher.

Each subject is given a full body scan to identify any area of concern such as body markings. We have a staff of plastic surgeons who will cover, remove or reconstruct as is necessary.

Nancy quipped, Terrific, doctor. I can really use a Botox job under my eyes.

They laughed.

Noonan continued, Dr. Daniels, has further developed an advanced speech patterning feature to match both local colloquialisms and local dialects. A serendipitous byproduct of our AIL Project is to transform those who have been brought into a witness protection program. We are able to establish new identities thereby making it virtually impossible for anyone pursuing them to accurately identify those they wish to eliminate or harm.

Nancy asked, What does this have to do with us?

Agent Lynda Whitetower, a special agent with the AIL who sat across from Nancy at the conference table, spoke of people who would do anything to obtain the AIL technology. Anything: including kidnapping them.

But my son and I know nothing about what you’re doing to people. What use would we be to them?

Daniels informed his wife, Honey, they will hold you and Casey as hostages to get to me.

No one would do that. We’re innocent.

Noonan piped in, Nancy, after your family used the sliding floor board in your car to access your garage’s trap door we constructed for your tunnel escape route, we detonated both your car and home.

Do you know how long it took me to decorate that house? Bill planted pansies all weekend and I tore my skirt going down that rat hole to your tunnel.

A small price to pay for our lives, Nancy. Daniels added.

In any event, Noonan picked up the conversation, One of the surveillance cameras we placed on your property was within your mailbox. He clicked for a particular slide, Does this gentleman look familiar?

That’s Tom, Tom Swanson, our neighbor. Bill, what’s he doing taking our mail?

Mrs. Daniels, a faceless voice called out to a baffled Nancy, The photo was taken 4 minutes after your explosions.

But our mail doesn’t come until the afternoon.

Today, being the first of the month, I put our payments in the mailbox for the postman to pick-up.

Bill, why would Tom want our mail?

Nancy, within ten minutes of the detonation, Noonan flipped to another slide, "Mr. Swanson was on the phone with Juan Morales in Quito, Ecuador. Mr. Morales is involved with the illegal distribution of drugs and operating Memoria, a worldwide crime syndicate not unlike the Mafia. Only difference being Memoria shakes down predominantly Hispanic communities in over a hundred countries."

Why would Tom call this man? He and Gretchen were at our house last night for a cookout. She brought a potato salad. I don’t understand, Bill.

An agent called out, Swanson was planted there by Morales four years ago to record everything you folks were doing.

A visibly upset Nancy uttered, Oh, my God. Why us?

Morales wants the AIL program for his own nefarious use. Perhaps sell the technology to the highest bidder, maybe even a terrorist group. This is why we must process your son and you through the program prior to your separate relocations. It’s for your own safety.

Absolutely not. This would mean I wouldn’t be with Bill or my son.

Daniels turned to his wife, held her hand and gently said while staring into her eyes, Honey, it’s the only way.

I refuse to do it, Bill. We’re a family. We’ll remain together for as long as we can. And we’ll fight this man Morales.

Agent Lynda Whitetower spoke quietly to Nancy, Mrs. Daniels, you must understand Morales’ tentacles reach into every area of our lives. He got to Swanson and God only knows how many others in our other intelligence agencies. With Morales intent on using you and Casey to get to Dr. Daniels your lives are in danger.

Casey who was silent throughout the meeting asked, Could you make me 16 so I can drive wherever you send me?

With the exception of Nancy, all laughed.

Dr. Kelleher responded, ‘Not at this time, Casey, but we’ll work on it."

Where will we go? Nancy whimpered.

Noonan answered, Since you will not recall this meeting after your AIL visit, I can tell you that Casey will be under Agent Clipper’s care in Providence, Rhode Island. Agent Clipper, please stand.

Wow. What a babe. Casey remarked to his dad.

Noonan continued, Agent Whitetower will supervise your protection team in Madison, Wisconsin.

Sorry, Mr. Noonan, no can do Wisconsin. Nancy protested. My cow milking skills are rusty.

Whitetower smiled and responded, It’s not as rustic as you think. I’m from Madison and we no longer use hay to pick food out of our teeth, we use them there tooth picker thingies.

Nancy glared at her and sarcastically said, You can’t be from Wisconsin. Your hair isn’t in pigtails with large red berets.

Whitetower rapidly fired back, They said to dress formal as all get out for this here meetin’. No berets, no overalls, no cow poo on my shoes.

For the first time since the meeting began, Nancy smiled and told Whitetower, I think I’m going to get along real well with you. She somberly asked, What about Bill? Where is he going?

A slide filled the screen as Noonan explained, This is our executive suite here at the AIL. As you can see it has all the amenities Bill could ever want. His safeguard is our paramount concern and we have a full complement of agents on staff everyday: 24/7. As a matter of fact, Bill, you and Casey will be spending the night there tonight. Tomorrow morning, you and Casey will be processed.

Turning to Daniels with tears streaming down her ashen face, You’ll be the one at the controls, right, Bill?

Of course. And you can bet the ranch I’ll make you a lesbian.

BILL. Not in front of Casey.

Yeah, dad, not in front of me. Can I go first tomorrow?

Sure, pal, his dad answered.

Suppose you eliminate all the Morales guys of the world who are trying to get this technology or better yet develop a system where you no longer need my husband, can our family be put back together the way we are now?

Scott Davenport, the leader of the social engineering group answered, Yes. We are able to reset your identity to the one you presently have by reversing the process.

Nancy grabbed her husband and son’s hands. I hope so, sir. I can’t imagine my life without these two.

3

Welcome to The Donut Hole. May I take your order please? said the cheerful voice from the speaker below the drive-thru menu board.

Hi, Joan. It’s Troy and Jackson. We’ll have an extra-large black coffee, two jelly donuts and three Donut Holes, please.

You got it Troy. Please drive to the window. And, Jackson, grrrrrrrr.

Jackson, Troy’s yellow lab, barked back at Joan’s voice which he associated with his tasty treats: glazed Donut Holes, glorious glazed Donut Holes.

Joan, jovial and round like her donuts, is the middle-aged owner of The Donut Hole shop who loves her customers. And her customers – two legged and four - love her.

That’ll be $2.09, Troy. The Holes are on me. Isn’t that right, my puppy, Jackson boy? Jackson stood on the seat, tail wagging uncontrollably, a few ‘Thank You’ barks for Joan, anticipating his round donut treats.

Handing Joan the money, Here you go. Have a terrific evening, Joan.

Thanks, you too, Troy. Go out and get those cheaters, Jackson.

We’ll try, Troy said as he drove away from the window while Jackson chowed down his six chocolate glazed balls. Troy stroked his companion’s head, You know, buddy. If it was up to me, you’d only get three; someone has to watch your manly physique.

Private investigator Troy McCoy was on his way to a stakeout: Tantangelo’s Restaurant in Providence’s own Little Italy known by the locals as The Hill appropriately named since it is located on the city’s Federal Hill.

A few days ago, a Mrs. Smith, voluptuously attired in a low cut teal, body hugging dress exited her lengthy white limo which double parked directly in front of Troy’s strip mall office. He stared out of his Caught In The Act Private Investigators lettered storefront window, which remained unwashed from the harsh winter in spite of it being mid-May, wondering if this elegant creature was headed his way or his Korean neighbor’s nail salon.

Opening his front door Mrs. Smith entered and walked over to Troy who stood behind his desk. Hello, I am, Mrs. Smith. Troy thought, of course you are. Lucky me, my third Mrs. Smith this week.

Please have a seat, Mrs. Smith. Can I offer you something to drink: coffee, juice, vodka?

She sat but declined Troy’s beverage service.

My husband and I are very wealthy, Mr. McCoy. We own and franchise a chain of over 1,100 bar-b-q fast food restaurants called Uncle Crayton’s Southern BBQ.

At the mention of food, Jackson who was sleeping on his bed, awoke and sat with his head cocked slightly to the right.

I eat at the Uncle Crayton’s by the airport in Warwick all the time. Great ribs.

She looked down and moved her hand across her ribs, You think?

Troy noticed her gesture and was now blushing not having intended his comment to be misconstrued to mean anything beyond Uncle Crayton’s ribs.

We started that airport location over twenty years ago while both of us were recent college graduates. My husband handled the cooking and developed our secret recipes while I worked out front handling customers and making sure they were happy…with their meals. Since then, our business has grown tremendously and my husband is out-of-town mostly every night. Sometimes for weeks. When he’s in-town, he’ll come home from our office, shower and go out for the night supposedly to meet with local franchisees. But I have my suspicions. She stopped and stared at Troy.

Of course you do Mrs. Smith.

Mr. McCoy, my husband has been seen out regularly with Tricia Weston, our marketing VP. When I confronted him about Tricia, he claimed it was strictly a business dinner.

Perhaps it was only an innocent meal, Mrs. Smith.

And Tricia being his all night dessert?

Oh, was all Troy could muster.

Reaching into her Coach purse which was a perfect color match to her dress, she pulled out a check, Mr. McCoy, I am giving you fifty thousand dollars as your retainer. I know this is considerably more than your usual fee in these cases. What I want are pictures I can use to confront my husband. Photographs of them entering and exiting a hotel, those sorts of snapshots. Since I am given little notice of his dinner engagements with Ms. Weston, you must be prepared to leave what you are doing immediately to, as your sign states, catch them in the act. Understood?

Troy nodded, No problem.

Mrs. Smith placed a manila envelope on Troy’s desk, Inside you will find a photograph of my husband plus a copy of Ms. Weston’s personnel file including her photo. She rose from her seat and walked to the door. Good day, Mr. McCoy.

Troy stood, You as well.

He ran to his door and called to Mrs. Smith as she was ready to enter her limo, "You never told me how you