A Case of Identity

 

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  A Case of Identity

  by

  Paul Comstock

  https://www.paulallancomstock.com

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  A Case of Identity

  Copyright © 2008 by Paul Comstock

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  A Case of Identity

   

   

  The news this morning wasn't anything to get excited about, unless you counted the story about me being dead. Well, I guess it wasn't really me, but what else could I call it? They found the body, my body, a crumpled and broken mess on Highway 76 over by the industrial park, a victim of some freak accident. That was bad enough, but even worse my coffee was getting cold and I was going to be late for work.

  "You have two visitors," the entry VOX declared in its irritating, mechanical voice. The cold and bitter tasting coffee went down the drain and I went to the door. Looking through the peephole I could see it was the BIT, the bulges of their stun guns betraying the commonness of their dull gray suits. Great, just what I needed, another thing to make me even later. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

  "Yeah," I said through the VOX. "What do you want?"

  "Mr. Thompson, we're with the Bureau of Identity Theft. There's been an incident and we need a word with you."

  They said it in a flat, nasally monotone as if I wouldn't know what they were talking about. I didn't really want to talk to them, but I didn't want to appear guilty of anything, either, especially since I hadn't done anything wrong. Not that wrongdoing was a requirement if they wanted to make my life hell. It was better to cooperate, but I was still annoyed enough to make them work a little for it.

  "Show me your badges," I said. The shiny badges glared, and I couldn't make out much detail, but they looked real enough. "Okay, come in."

  "Thank you, Mr. Thompson," the first agent said, entering with his partner following behind, both pushing past me. They looked like twins with their hair cropped down to a fine matting on their perfectly shaped heads showing off their somewhat crooked ears. They even wore the same cologne, a sickly sweet one I had always hated. The similarity in the two wasn't surprising. One was a dupe. BIT agents often used dupes as their partners.

  "So what is this about?" I asked.

  The first agent glanced around the room while the other kept my attention. "I see you've been watching the morning news so you probably already know why we're here."

  "You mean my dead body? So? I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd appreciate it if you could get to the point."

  "Do you know anybody by the name of Dangler?"

  "No."

  "That was the name on the dead dupe's ID, Tom Dangler. Are you sure it doesn't sound familiar?"

  "I said no."

  The agent nodded. "Normally, the dead body would be enough to close the case and we wouldn't have bothered, but there are a few loose ends, and a concern."

  "What do you mean by a concern?"

  "We think there might be more of you out there and we have no idea how many."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "It wouldn't be the first time," the other agent replied.

  "So how does anything I say help? It's not like I'm the one that made the dupe." The twin agents looked at each other then back at me, turning their heads in eerie, synchronous unison. "You don't think I made the dupe, do you?" I asked, feeling queasy. My throat was suddenly itchy and the cold coffee wasn't sitting well in my stomach.

  "The original is often in on it," the agent said, his face as set as stone, cold and calculating.

  I swallowed. "I didn't have anything to do with it. Really."

  The agent raised an eyebrow but went on. "The dupe didn't commit any crimes that we know of but he had some papers containing information from Victory Financial. You work for them, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "They're encrypted so we brought them with us. We were hoping you would be willing to examine them, tell us what they're about."

  "Sure, hand them over." The agent's counterpart nodded then produced the papers. There wasn't much to be said for the encrypted documents. Nothing but gibberish filled the pages. No wonder the agents couldn't decipher them. The green bar running across the top of each identified them as level three documents. "I'll have to try to decode them, but my code may not work."

  "Do what you can, Mr. Thompson," the agent said.

  I typed my personal decode key into my portable encrypter and put the papers in the hopper. The papers processed slowly, gliding out of the machine in a slow procession, page after page. I grabbed each page as it emerged and examined it.

  My decrypt key only worked for parts of the documents and large areas were still filled with gibberish--something I had expected. My decode key would only work for information I was cleared to see regardless of my general security clearance. On the third page something about dupes caught my attention. It was definitely troubling considering the situation, but now was not the time to show any concern. I took extra time examining them, waiting for the temporarily decoded parts to reverted back to their original, encrypted form. I didn't want to be arrested, and even the hint of a connection would probably bring that about.

  "Well, I'm sorry," I said, "but I haven't had any more luck with them than you. But you're right, these shouldn't have been taken from the office."

  "So those papers are of some importance?"

  "Probably, since they are encoded at a high level."

  "What do you make of them?"

  I needed to give the agent a good reason why someone would want these papers without revealing the part involving dupes. I chose to tell him part of the truth rather than lie completely. I figured it would sound more convincing. "If I were to guess I'd say someone was trying to steal this stuff. Some of it could be worth quite a lot to the right people. You know, investments and stocks, things like that."

  "Which people?"

  I had some ideas. Victory had made plenty of enemies, and some of their competitors could, and would, do most anything to get even. There were a dozen possibilities, but nothing concrete. "I don't think I should answer that. I'd only be guessing."

  The agent nodded. "Very well. We'll need the papers back."

  "Certainly," I said, handing over the documents without hesitation. I didn't need them since the encoder kept a copy in its memory. It was a deluxe model.

  "Very well, Mr. Thompson. Please contact us if you need more assistance in this matter. Since no laws, other than illegal duplication, seem to have been broken, and since we have the dupe's body, this case is officially closed. But we will be back if any more of you show up." They left, saying nothing more, but leaving a contact card on my counter. I sighed, relieved that they hadn't hauled me in. It was true that I hadn't done anything and wasn't responsible for the dupe, but the BIT had more power than the IRS and could have locked me up for a lot less than suspicion of duplication.

  I went back to the encrypter and reprinted the pages. As I examined them in greater detail I became even more uncomfortable. One referred to a project I had never heard of, the Worley Exponent. The name was strange and I had no idea what it meant. I shrugged in frustration. There was little else I could do about it here. The only thing left was to see if I could find out more at work. Maybe I could get the rest of the documents decoded there. Besides, I really didn't want to be late.