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“Who knew that the next time we would talk would be when the world thinks we’re dead?”
It was two in the morning, and they had just finished catching up with each other’s lives. Neal had shown up on Bryce’s doorstep hours before, looking sharp as usual in a full suit. Bryce had invited him in and offered a drink, in return for a conversation.
“Sarah told me that you saved Chuck, by taking a bullet,” Neal said, trying to keep the conversation rolling.
Neal was the only one Bryce trusted. Before he had gone to work for the CIA, they called at least once a week, telling each other things that they couldn’t admit to anyone else. For Neal, that was forging bonds or stealing a painting. For Bryce, that was how he framed his friend, Chuck, for cheating to keep him out of the CIA, although he only told Neal that it “was for Chuck’s own good.”
Bryce never introduced Neal and Chuck, but he did leave Sarah’s number, along with one to a burn phone that he never used one. Sarah never said that Neal called her, until two weeks ago, asking if he was still alive. He never knew he'd come through.
“Yeah, I did. I actually thought that I’d kill me. But Sarah got me out…” Bryce wiped his forehead. That day was hard, physically and mentally. He had had enough of being shot at, not knowing if he would survive. “She arranged for me to fake my death. She had some friends at this one hospital in San Francisco. They looked after me and healed me, after declaring that I died shortly after arriving at the hospital.
“It helped, of course, by already being declared dead by the CIA almost two years before.”
Neal smiled from where he sat on the couch, fourth glass of wine in hand. “You and I, although apart, led similar lives.”
Bryce looked at Neal with a question in his eyes. “Huh?”
“I faked my death because the FBI wasn’t going to release me. I was tired of being leashed to them, my movement being watched by them 24/7. So I faked my death.”
“Details, Neal. I want the details. I gave you my death story, I wanna hear yours”
Neal smiles. “I was working a job with my handler, Peter. During that, an enemy, Mathew Keller, appeared, claiming to be a CI for Interpol. Long story short, he was imprisoned and indebted to the Russians.
“We were trying to take down this gang called the Pink Panthers. They were the best in New York. Peter and I infiltrated them, making them think that we were con men. Keller joined too, trying to pay off his debt to the Russians.
“I arranged for Mozzie to intercept thirty million dollars in the sewers under Wall Street. I looped Keller in, making him think that if he helped us, he would get some of it too.
“I had set it up so Mozzie left and the money was still there. Keller wanted all of it, as I planned. After fighting him, he shot me in the chest.
“I had fake blood there and a blank shot. I timed it so the bag broke when Keller shot, making him think he’d hit me.
“I hired people off the streets to be in the ambulance and take care of me. I took a drug that simulated death. Then, they shuttled me out of the country.”
Bryce sat there, blinking at Neal. “Damn,” he muttered. “Whenever I faked my death, I went with the flow. I also didn’t have time to plan it, as you did.”
Neal laughed. “I had to make it convincing. I also wasn’t shot at all the time and had to improvise if the plan went wrong.”
“But you still had plan B.”
“I did have a plan B. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Of course I want to hear it!”
“Tell me another time you faked your death. You said the CIA claimed you were dead two years before.”
Bryce laughed. “That one is so boring! I was breaking into a CIA facility to destroy what is called an Intersect. You know, what I sent Chuck and what was in his head for a few years? Anyways, I had it downloaded and I was ready to drive to a safe spot to destroy it. I had blown up their Intersect room, and I had downloaded a copy of it for a man named Orion, the creator of the Intersect. I was getting away when the NSA agent John Casey shot me. It knocked me down, and he reported back to the government that I was actually dead. I was a rogue spy, after all. Receiving a burn notice wasn’t good enough for them. I had to be dead.”
“They didn’t come back to check your body?” Neal asked.
“They did. But Casey doesn’t miss, and the spy they sent to retrieve me was a friend of mine. I got him to report that I was dead and that my body was thrown into the explosion fire.” Bryce takes a sip from his beer. “Your turn. I heard you had a good shark mauling a few years ago.”
“Ah, the shark mauling.” Neal chuckles. “The FBI was close to catching me on bond forgeries and I had to get them off my tail, and quickly. I booked a plane ticket to a no-name place under the name Steve Tabernacle, an alias the FBI knew. I flew there, and by the time they caught a whiff of the flight, I was already there and setting up.
“I went to the beach, alone at night and went swimming. I made sure a few people saw me walk there, to make sure I have witnesses.
“I went swimming, and after a while I started yelling for help, yelling shark.
“By the time people and ambulance responded (which, again, I hired the ambulance people), I had covered myself with fake blood and put casts onto my arms and legs making it look like I was attacked by a shark. The rest unfolds like New York. Doctors told the public and FBI that I was dead and smuggled me back to the States.”
“How long did that hold off?” Bryce asked.
“Oh, it gave me four months. I spent that with my girlfriend, Kate, and also getting ready for my next heist. It took them a while to figure out that the guy who was mauled by the shark was the same now running those forgeries.” Neal grins, remembering the old times.
Bryce looks at the clock. It was three-thirty. “So, tell me about this Kate girl. You’ve mentioned her a few times, and yet, you never described her.”
Neal hangs his head. “Cuz she’s dead.” A swig from his wine. Another. And another. “Murdered. Not faked.”
Bryce could tell he hit a tender spot asking about her. “I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.” And with that, he got up to get another beer.