Cross Fire

blubbered on when he found his voice again, “what is this? Who are you? I don’t know what you want.”
    “Everything, Max. Every last little thing.”
    Kyle took another half dozen pictures and repocketed the camera. “You’re actually a victim of your own good work, if that’s any consolation. Nobody knows who you are down here, not even the local FBI. That’s why I chose you. I selected you out of all the agents working in the United States.
You,
Max. Can you guess why?”
    His voice had changed as he spoke. It was more nasal now, with the same shades of Brooklyn accent that laced the real Max Siegel’s speech.
    “This will never work! You’re insane!” Siegel screamed at him. “You’re fucking mad!”
    “By some standards, I think that might be true,” Kyle said. “But I’m also the most brilliant son of a bitch you’ll ever have the pleasure to know.” Then he pulled the trigger one more time and just let the thing
run.
    Siegel writhed mutely on the bottom of the tub. Eventually, he began to gag on his own tongue. Kyle watched, carefully noting every detail all the way to the end, studying his subject until there was nothing left to learn.
    “Let’s hope this works,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to have died for nothing, Mr. Siegel.”

Two

    TWENTY-TWO DAYS LATER, a man bearing a striking resemblance to Max Siegel checked out of the Hotel Meliá Habana in the ritzy Miramar section of Havana, Cuba. Medical tourists were as common as pickpockets here; no one looked twice at the broad-shouldered man in the linen suit with bruises around his eyes and gauze over his nose and ears as he came through the lobby.
    He signed the bill with a perfectly replicated signature and kept the charges on Max Siegel’s brand-new American Express card. The surgeries, however, had been paid for in cash.
    From the hotel, he caught a cab across town to Dr. Cruz’s office, discreetly tucked into one of the city’s endless neoclassic arcades. Inside was a full-service, completely staffed modern clinic that would have made a high-priced plastic surgeon in Miami or Palm Beach proud.
    “I have to tell you, Senor Siegel, that I’m quite pleased with this.” The doctor spoke softly as he removed the last of the bandages. “It is some of the best work I’ve ever done, if I may say so.” His manner was thoughtful but crisp and efficient — very professional. You’d never know he was willing to cut so many ethical corners along with the skin and bones of his clients’ faces.
    Dr. Cruz had performed seven separate procedures, something that might have taken months or even a year elsewhere. There was blepharoplasty for the eyelids; a template rhinoplasty for the nose, with a complete elevation of the skin and soft tissue in the nasal pyramid; new MEDPOR implants for more prominent cheekbones and chin; a sliding genioplasty of the jawbone; a little silicone augmentation for the brow; and, as a finishing touch, a nice little cleft in the chin — just like Max Siegel’s.
    At the patient’s request, no electronic imaging had been taken before or after the procedures. For the right rate, Dr. Cruz had been more than willing to work from a series of digital blowups in hard copy, no questions asked, no interest in any biophysical detail.
    Now, when he held up the large hand mirror for Kyle to see his reflection, the effect was stunning. The implants, especially, were like a miracle of change.
    Max
— not Kyle — smiled back from the mirror. He felt a slight sting at the corners of his mouth, which didn’t move quite the same way as before. In fact, he didn’t recognize himself at all. It was a total mind fuck, in the best possible way. There had been other disguises in the past, including some very expensive prosthetics that had gotten him out of prison. But they were nothing compared to this.
    “How long will the bruising last?” he asked. “And this swelling around my eyes?”
    Cruz handed him a folder of aftercare information. “With proper rest, you should be looking completely normal in seven to ten days.”
    The remaining changes, he could do for himself — shave and dye his hair down to a dark buzz cut and put in a simple pair of colored contacts. If there was any disappointment at all, it was that Kyle Craig had been so much better looking than Max Siegel.
    But screw it. He needed to consider the larger picture here. Next time, he could be Brad Pitt if he wanted to.
    He left the clinic in an