46

            As the train blasted south along the elevated rail tracks that cut through the middle of Georgia 400, Anthony continually glanced at the surveillance camera.            

            Lisa followed his gaze.  “You keep looking at the camera.  You think they can watch us?”

            “The camera is linked to a network.  Networks can be hacked.”

            “Why did I ask?”  She ran her hands through her hair.  “Do we have to take a space shuttle to the moon to escape these people?”

            “Come on.”  He grabbed their bags.  “Let’s move to another car.”

            In the next compartment, there were only two passengers, both college-age guys.  One was asleep, head tilted back and mouth lolling open.  The guy sitting beside him listened to loud rock on an iPod and bobbed his shaggy-haired head almost violently.  He looked at them without interest. 

            A surveillance camera monitored them in there, too. 

            “Must be surveillance in every car.”  He turned to Lisa.  “You have some lipstick? A dark shade?”

            “Lemme see.”  She dug in her purse and handed a stick to him.  “This is the darkest color I have.  It’s called merlot.”

            “That’ll work.”    

            He climbed onto the seat underneath the camera.  Using broad strokes, he painted a thick coat of lipstick over the lens.

            The rock fan passenger was watching him.  He grinned and gave Anthony the thumbs-up sign.  “Fucking A, dude.  Big Brother sucks.”

            Anthony returned the thumbs-up, and settled onto a seat with Lisa.     

            “Now we’ve got a little bit of privacy,” he said.  “My guess is that they’ll have cameras in each station, too, but maybe we can throw them off long enough for us to get away.”

            “Where do you want to go?”

            “To Buckhead, maybe.  Somewhere we can find a car to boost.  Unless you have another idea?”

            “Hmm.”  She pursed her lips.  “I was thinking—my baby sister’s in Houston visiting her boyfriend until Sunday night.  She left her car at her apartment, and I’ve got a key to her place.”

            “Isn’t it near a station?”

            “It’s about two or three blocks from the Midtown stop.”

            “We’ll go there then.”

            While Lisa closed her eyes to doze, he rummaged in his duffel and found Bishop Prince’s book.  He stared at the cover photo.

            The bishop’s face still troubled him, for reasons that continued to elude him.  But there was another element of the picture that made sense.

            On the lapel of his suit, Bishop Prince wore the same golden badge that he had seen on the breast pocket of Valdez’s tracksuit.  Although the picture did not provide close-up detail of the emblem’s intricate embroidery—he could make out images of a bird of some kind, a sword, and a cross—the capital letters “NKC,” in a bold, elegant typeface, were easily readable.    

            NKC.  New Kingdom Church.          

            He pointed out the badge to Lisa and explained what he’d seen on the woman’s jacket.

            “That sounds conclusive to me,” she said.  “At this point, the accumulated evidence is impossible to deny.”

            “I only wish I knew how my dad got involved with these people.”  He gazed out the window, the urban landscape fleeing past in a dark blur.  Sighing, he examined the bishop’s face again.  “I feel like we’re missing something obvious.”

            “Like what?”

            He shrugged.  “Something.  Maybe in that Bible.  Maybe in this book.” 

            “Well, we’re both tired.  Soon as we can get settled somewhere safe, get some rest, and clear our heads, things will start to fall into place.”

            “But for now, we definitely know one thing for sure.”

            “Which is?”

            He tapped the book, finger stabbing the bishop’s beguiling smile.

            “The face of our enemy.”