Because of the vast network of the cartel and believing they were responsible, the feds placed me in witness protection......new name, new hair color, new style, new job, new everything.

The hard part was I could not continue my profession and had to relocate. I had no living kin, so there would be no remorse at leaving family. With the office and my equipment destroyed, it gave me an opportunity not to reopen, or so the Feds thought. So with that I became Shirley Marshall, graphic design artist and found work with a big company in southern California. I was one of several in the department and really didn't stand out."

For three years my life was calm, I was even beginning to feel safe. Then it happened....the cartel found me! I became aware that there was some one following me; and even saw them outside my condo. It was always the same car, a black BMW Sedan; they didn't seem to care if I saw them. It didn't take me long to call my handler reporting my shadow. He assured me he would check into it. Shortly after I called the Feds, a black BMW ran a stop sign sending my car careening across the freeway landing against an embankment.

Some passerby called in the accident and pulled me from the vehicle just before it exploded from a ruptured gas tank. When I came too in the emergency, they were wheeling me into surgery. My ankle injured so badly they had to insert a plate and two pins. My left arm caught between the door and the steering wheel was severely sprained; a mild concussion, numerous lacerations, and lots of bruises.

The next morning when the doctor made his rounds, "How are you feeling Miss Marshall?"

Trying to sit up and failing miserably she leans back on the pillow, "I feel a little groggy, tell me what my injuries are."

"Do you remember what happened, anything about the accident in which you were involved"

Looking at him skeptical of the question, "Doctor, this car plowed through a red light at a tremendous speed ramming me and forcing me into an embankment. I don't remember much after that until I came to after surgery." Finding the buttons on the bed, she raises the bed where she can eyeball the doctor, "Now tell me the extent of my injuries."

"Miss Marshall, Is there someone we can call for you?"

Becoming frustrated that he is not answering her questions, "Doctor I want to know the extent of my injuries and I want to know it now!"

Sitting down in the chair by her bed, he details the injuries and the expected recovery period. "You will be in the hospital for at least two weeks. And I will be recommending physical therapy at that time. Is there any family member we can call or a friend?"

"No doctor, I have no family and I live alone." Pondering the next question, "Where is my purse and notebook from my car? What happened to those in the other vehicle, how bad were they injured?"

"Now that you're awake and alert, Miss Marshall there is a couple of police officers outside, who have been waiting to ask you some questions." With that he moves toward the door motioning for the officers to enter as he leaves.

Wondering why they would want to talk to her, she didn't run the red light. "What can I do for you officers?"

Miss Marshall, the Feds have asked us to look into the accident. The BMW that ran the red light ramming your vehicle was stolen and two men were seen fleeing the scene. There were no prints nothing in the vehicle to help identify the occupants." Pausing to see her reaction, "The Feds tell us that you reported a strange Black BMW sitting outside your apartment on several occasions."

An icy chill ripped through her body causing her to shiver. "Why did you call the feds and not the local police?"

With calm in her voice that belied the tension gripping her body, "If the Feds asked you to look into the accident, you already have the answer to that question. So why are you asking?"

"Your right, Miss! We do know the answer, but it's our business to be careful in a situation such as yours."

Just as he finishes his statement the door pops open and in walks her handler. "Shirley, how are you?" When she doesn't respond, he turns to the officers, "what can you tell me about the accident?"

As soon as the officers bring her handler up to date, they leave; and he turns his attention to Shirley. "Now, how are you feeling? When will you be released? What do you need while you are here?"

Shirley looks at him and laughs sarcastically, "Now what the hell do you think I need! I need to know how they found me; and what the hell you are going to do about it. Also, where is my personal things from my car?"

Taken aback by her open hostility, "Calm down, Shirley, we going to take care of this. And, your car was destroyed when the gas tank ruptured exploding."

As her pain escalates so does her anger, "Yeah, another whole new identity, new location, new job, and what the hell for." Catching her breath, "And how long is it going to take them to find me this time? Just get out, get the hell out and leave me alone."

As her voices raises to a resounding level the nurse enters the room, "Miss Marshall, what I can do for you?"

Shouting as much from fear as the pain, "Get him the hell out of here." As the nurse ushers him out, Shirley calms down and quietly ask, "Could I have something for pain?"

Patting Shirley on the arm, "Yes, honey, you sure can. Would like a cup of coffee also?"

As a tear slowly slides down her cheek, in a whisper she replies, "Please."
For the duration of my stay there was a guard outside my hospital room, at which time I was taken to a safe house. And once again a new identity, and repeat of everything all over again; this time in advertising of all places in Pennsylvania. From then on I never felt safe I was always looking over my shoulder. Everything and everyone became suspicious."

"Just as I was beginning to feel safe, someone broke into my home during the night beat me until I was unconscious. And would probably have killed me except an airline pilot living on the same floor heard the ruckus. He used his cell phone to call the cops from his room. Then taking his gun he started out the door where he saw two men covered in black wearing ski masks rush out of the room; before he realized what happened, one of the culprits took a gun butt to his head."

"When the police arrived we were transported to the ER. I was barely alive; the doctors didn't give me much chance of survival. Against all odds, I begin to mend. While it took me several months to bounce back, I did."

After months of therapy, I called the bureau asking for a new handler as I no longer trusted any one, especially the only person who was supposed to know where I was and what name I was using. The question haunting me night and day was always the same, how did the cartel keep finding me? Only the handler knew where I was. This time they moved me to Orlando as an office manager for a law firm."