Benton City 2000

Frank put his arms about Carol and held her close. The Marshal's had delivered them to their new home, read them the rules for the nth time, and told them to act perfectly normal. The new identifications were solid for the whole family, so they could just start living as the Crawfords.

Their previous lives were gone - forever.

"It's going to be okay, Hon. We'll get the kids registered in school and I'll start looking for work. At least the house has been covered financially. We can open a bank account tomorrow and the Marshals will make the transfer of our funds so they can't be traced. The FBI will handle that part."

"I'm going to miss my parents, Frank. I don't know . . . what do we tell the kids? They'll want to know about Gran and Grampa."

"Well cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now we have to establish ourselves here and start fitting in."

Over the next few weeks, Frank went from place to place, answering ad after ad and finally landed a job, at a decent wage, working for a vacation exchange company. Carol registered the children in the local school and after a while life began to feel somewhat normal again.

They avoided being too social with neighbours but maintained pleasant relations and did attend a few neighbourhood events. Over time Carol came to terms, on the surface, with the loss of seeing her parents, and the children had to accept that they had grown old and passed away.

The night they had that talk, Carol nearly lost it, shutting herself in their bedroom and crying the entire night. Frank patiently waited her out, and after a few conversations, the truth of their circumstances were accepted again.

Two years passed and life at the Crawfords was indistinguishable from any other young family in Benton City. In the third year, Carol felt the first stirrings of suspicion and fear. A car had been making random appearances near the school when she was there picking up her children. Frank listened, and suggested she was just imagining - it was the anniversary month of their identities as Crawfords after all.

Early in 2004, during a backyard party for Jillian Crawford's tenth birthday, Carol was putting gift wrappings in the garbage bin beside the house, when she saw the car again - the same car - parked across from their home. She walked nervously back to the yard and called to her husband to come inside.

"What's up, Hon?"

"Across the street, Frank . . . that car. Don't look! Be careful."

"You mean from at the school? Carol, that was ages ago."

"I'm telling you, it's that car."

"You go out and see to the kids, I'll try and snap a shot from upstairs."

"Don't let them see you, Frank!"

"Don't worry, go and check on those kids, they shouldn't be out there alone with that barbecue."

******

"What did they say?" Carol worried her fingers.

Frank sat her down and held her hands still. "I called the number they gave us and spoke with one of the Marshals. He said the picture I sent them of the car was a bust. The registration was fake and they had no other means of identification."

"What do we do? What did he say to do?"

"He said to keep a watch for it and if it shows up again, call them right away."

"That's it? Frank, they're miles away, what are they going to do?"

"It's what we're going to do, Carol." He went to the closet, and from a panel in the ceiling, he lifted down a shoebox and set it between them on the bed.

Carol looked puzzled, waiting, as he took the lid off and showed her what was inside.

"Where did those come from? How did you get them?"

"When it became apparent we were going to be moved, I started assembling a go bag."

"A what?"

"It's just a term used by some agents in the government. It contains everything we need to disappear again if necessary." He lifted out several pieces of identification and handed them to her.

"How . . .?"

"I made it my business to learn a lot after I was dismissed from the State Department programme. I was surprised to discover how easy it was to acquire documents while still inside. We have everything we need, Carol - I have kept them up to date every year."

"You never told me."

"You were worried enough as it was, besides, they were just an in case backup. I never really dreamed we might need them."

She shuffled through the various documents, shaking her head. "Where would we go?"

"Canada. We can't risk boats or planes, and we don't speak Spanish."

"We'd be driving?"

"Yes. Let's get dinner over and the kids to bed and I'll lay out the whole plan."

They sat up most of the night going over Frank's plan - or the one he hoped to execute. Carol was distraught again. She cried, worried for the children and what it would do to them, but in the end she saw it was their only hope of being free from their past.

They began preparing as 2004 was coming to an end.

Benton City Today

Passmore forked up the last of his scrambled eggs, complimented the chef, and drank some coffee. I set the frying pan in the sink and ran hot water into it with a bit of detergent.

"Cooking's a necessity when you're single. We don't have big expense accounts for eating meals out all the time."

The laugh was derisive. "Right, big expense accounts. Have to admit, we do have a cafeteria at the office. I can dine on Salisbury steak five nights a week."

I joined him at the table, and our silence signalled the seriousness of our situation.

"I'm guessing you heard me on the phone last night."

He nodded. "This place isn't really soundproof. What were the results?"

"I had a patrol car cruise by. The vehicle in question moved off quite rapidly."

"Our watchers?"

"No doubt."

"You'd better give Miss Howard a call, check that she's alright."

I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of that right away, and grabbed my phone.

"Hello?"

"Kristen? It's Ralph, I just wanted to see if things were okay at your place."

"What time is it?"

Oh, God . . . Passmore was grinning like an ape, as he listened.

"Uhm, early I guess. Too early?"

"No, I should be getting up anyway. Why did you call? Did something happen?"

"No. No, I just- uh- I was just checking to see how you- how things were after our big conversation last night."

Kristen hesitated, her silly breakdown at bedtime flooded back, and she wondered if he was psychic or something.

"Kristen?"

"Yeah, things are fine. How did your boy's night work out?"

"He snores like a Hollywood muffler - that's a muffler they used to put on cars back in the day."

"So glad to know. If that's all, I have to get my day going."

"Absolutely, Right. So, call if you need anything."

"Okay, bye."

"I don't snore, Detective." Passmore frowned

"You do now." I laughed at his pained reaction.

Word count to this point - 8826