Fleeing the Past . Christopher LaGrone
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Matt more about himself than he had ever told anyone. Matt knew the general truth about his past with the exception of a few significant matters—matters too personal and difficult. He didn’t know why Layne had been kicked off the University of Missouri baseball team and out of school entirely. He didn’t know what happened in Peoria after Layne was drafted by the Cardinals. It was too late to tell him now, and Layne knew that these issues could cost him the security clearance if discovered. But in addition to the fear that Matt would pass judgment, Layne feared that Matt might recommend he save himself the trouble and withdraw his application. He didn’t even approve of recreational marijuana use.
“I put down that I smoked it three times at frat parties seven years ago, like you told me to,” Layne said.
“That’s perfect. Are you sure that’s what you put down? You gotta know it down to the year and month.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I quizzed myself a dozen times to make sure I had it down.” Layne knew that his mind had a tendency to go blank under pressure.
“Good, make sure you have all that committed to memory; he’s gonna try to cross you up with what’s on that SF-86.”
Layne found himself staring again, this time at the coffee maker, then at some of Fabiola’s desk trinkets; there was a miniature flag of Argentina in a coffee cup on her desk. He was trying not to panic.
“I’m also worried about my work history,” Layne admitted.
“Why?”
“Well, I’ve been fired a few times.”
“So,” Matt said dismissively.
“How could they not care about that?” Layne said, in disbelief.
“Because it’s hearsay. They only care about facts. You don’t have a police record, right? No DUIs?”
“No, by the grace of God,” Layne said, but the memory of his previous good fortune wasn’t at all gratifying.
“As long as there’s nothing on paper, you’re good,” Matt said with finality.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, if you tell the guy the truth about drugs you’ve tried, it’s ball game, so you have to lie about that. But don’t lie about anything you don’t have to. If there’s a record of anything somewhere, you need to tell him because he’ll find it. You won’t believe the stuff they dig up.”
Based on the latest feel he was getting from Matt, he was leaning toward disclosing everything to the investigator. To risk that the guy would never find out felt more threatening during the final countdown. There were a handful of people from his past that were privy to the information, but Layne speculated that those who knew would want to keep their interaction with a federal investigator as brief as possible.
“Well, if I get past this interview, what comes next?” As he asked, Layne peeked through the blinds again.
“You have to do your Oral Board,” Matt answered, then added, “But you can’t fail this interview. He’s just gathering information; it’s not a test.”
“I bet that Oral Board is gonna suck. What’s it like?” Layne asked.
“They will have Border Patrol Agents there that will grill you about scenarios at the border, and you have to tell them what you would do in the situation. They evaluate you,” Matt said.
“Oh, screw me. You live down there; I’ve always lived up north. I don’t know squat about the border,” Layne said.
“You’ll be alright. Just don’t change your answers,” Matt warned. “They’re gonna try to rattle your cage. If they get you to backpedal and second-guess yourself, you’re done. They don’t expect you to know what to do, they just want to see how you perform under stress.”
Layne bent a metal blind to look out the window again and did a double take. He saw a man wearing slacks and a dress shirt with no tie coming from the parking lot, watching his feet as he walked slowly. He was carrying a briefcase.
“I think this is him coming now. I better go. I’ll call you after I’m done.”
Layne closed his flip phone and put it in his pocket. He moved away from the window when he was sure that it could only be Edward, the investigator, arriving along the walkway. He looked around the room and tried to decide what he should look like he was doing when Edward arrived. He elected to wait by the door for a knock and try to look calm. He would wait a few seconds before opening it. If he could pull this whole thing off, he could pick and choose the events in his history he wanted to remember. He would have a clean slate—the new start he had been wandering in search of for years.
When Edward came through the door, Layne made it a point to meet him with his firmest handshake. Edward was a tall, Hispanic-looking man in his early sixties with graying hair and light skin. Layne had approximated his age accurately from his voice over the phone, but the image of the man he had created in his mind was far off—as always.
Layne sat tentatively in Fabiola’s desk chair and offered the chair in front of the desk to Edward. Layne wasn’t sure how to act . . . or what to do with his hands in these situations.
Edward began opening his briefcase on the desk between them. Layne couldn’t withstand the awkward silence any longer. He felt expected to speak and blurted, “Were you a Border Patrol Agent?”
“Yes, I was,” Edward answered. “I worked in Calexico for twenty years and I was in the Marine Corps before I entered The Service. I retired a while back and now I do background investigations to stay busy.”
“Calexico? Is that near El Centro?” Layne knew where it was but wanted to prolong the subject to delay—even if only for a few minutes—the questions he knew were coming.
“It’s farther south. Do you know why they call it Calexico?” Edward asked, grinning.
Layne smiled. He was interested in such things. “No, why?”
“It’s one city divided by the Border Fence. On the Mexico side of the border it’s called Mexicali, and on the California side it’s called Calexico. The letters in the cities are reversed depending on which side of the border you’re on.”
Layne nodded and smiled. His shoulders relaxed a little bit, as they seemed to be hitting it off. But then he thought maybe Edward was baiting him into letting his guard down to lure him into revealing something about himself he had not intended to. Why did he pick Fabiola’s office to have this meeting? What did he know about her?
Edward removed documents from his briefcase and placed them on the desk. “I have a copy here of the SF-86 you submitted on-line. Like I said in our phone conversation, we are going to go over this and fill in anything that’s missing.”
“Okay,” Layne said.
“You’ve lived in a lot of places,” Edward said, his tone sounding somewhat critical.
Layne wondered if that might be a red flag. “Yes, I have, but I had baseball scholarships and transferred twice. I lost a lot of credit hours transferring schools.”
This was not the first time he had tried to fit in somewhere and find a new start.
“And since then I haven’t been sure of what I wanted to do . . . until now,” Layne added.
“I’m not driving to Missouri; I don’t give a damn what they say,” Edward stated as he clicked his pen. He seemed to be talking to himself. Layne didn’t respond and only shifted his posture.
He could hear his internal voice fretting while Edward finished preparing. He tried to appear relaxed, but despite Matt’s reassurances, he couldn’t muster a glimmer of confidence about exposing his past to scrutiny. His knee bounced. He was embarrassed, and well aware of how far behind he was; he knew he should’ve been married with a kid on the way by now to appear normal. Edward stopped thumbing through papers and continued.
“I