47

            By the time the train pulled into the Midtown station, the two college kids had disembarked at a previous stop and left Anthony and Lisa alone in the car. They got to their feet as the locomotive slowed, Anthony craning his neck to find the camera that would be watching the area, while Lisa searched for it, too.

            “There it is,” she said, face pressed to the glass.  “It’s in the middle, above that trash can.  It moves left to right.  See it?”

            He saw it.  Suspended from the rafters by a steel arm veined with black cables, the small camera was one of a bundled pair that scanned the area.  The other one was angled in the opposite direction, to monitor activity on a separate train line.

            “I see it,” he said.  “Stand by till I give the word.”

            Counting under his breath, he began to clock the speed of the camera’s arc. 

            With a screech of brakes, the train drew to a halt.  The passenger doors rattled open. 

            Lisa hung back from the doors.  Anthony waited until the camera had ratcheted away from the train, and said to her, “Now.  We’ll go across the platform and stand by that trash can.  We’ve got about five seconds before the camera swings back our way.”

            Lugging their bags, they hurried off the car and onto the platform.  There were only a few passengers boarding or leaving the rails at that hour, and those that wandered past ignored them in that familiar way that urbanites did, immersed in their own little bubbles.  

            Standing close together beside the wastebasket, almost directly beneath the camera, they waited.  The lens pivoted to the left, sweeping over the train they had exited, and moved its cyclopean gaze to the stairwell beyond the platform.

            When it had reached the limit of its leftward scan and resumed the rightward rotation, he nudged Lisa. 

            “Now.”

            They took off at a jog.  They reached the stairwell and pounded up the steps. 

            Halfway up the stairs, he grabbed Lisa’s arm. 

            “Wait.  Step down.  There’s another one at the top.”

            She turned away, descended a step.  A young woman brusquely rushed by them

            He waited until the swiveling camera had raked past.  “Go.”

            They streaked up the staircase and cut right, to the doors.  Finally, no more cameras. 

            They ran outside into damp air, a cool drizzle, and the drone of the city.  The vaulted sky had yet to release sunshine; dawn was an hour away yet.

            A few vehicles grumbled past on Tenth Street, but none of them were black Suburbans.  That didn’t inspire a sense of security, however—an urban environment offered countless hiding places. 

            “Where’s your sister’s apartment?” he asked.

            “Not far.”  She took his hand, and they crossed the street. 

            They were in the heart of Midtown.  High-rise condos and apartments.  Skyscrapers housing corporate headquarters.  Fashion-able boutiques.  Trendy restaurants.  Yesterday afternoon, he and Lisa had met for lunch at a brewpub only a few blocks away. Their lives had changed so much in the past twelve hours they might have been in a different universe. 

            But if this nerve-shredding ordeal ended with the justice his family deserved, it would have been well worth the pain, stress, and exhaustion.  Worth everything.  A day or two of sheer hell could never compare to the past fifteen years of misery—or the prospect of a future without closure. 

            They traveled two blocks south down a wide, glistening sidewalk, and stopped at a towering condominium called, “The Summit.”  An awning protected against the rain.  Beyond the dual set of glass doors, there was a small vestibule; one needed a keycard to gain entry to the lobby, or you had to be buzzed in by a resident or doorman.

            As Lisa combed through her purse for the keys, Anthony looked around.  Most of the storefronts were dark.  A weekend athlete in an orange rain-licker jogged along the other side of the street, a black Labrador keeping pace with him. 

            Also across the street, fixed atop a lamp post, he noticed a camera.

            Midtown was under surveillance, too.

            “Shit.”  He spun away to hide his face.

            “What’s wrong?” She had the key and accompanying keycard in her fingers.

            “This neighborhood is being monitored by security cameras.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “They’re supposed to keep you safe from the bad guys.  Other cities have a similar set-up, I’ve read.  The problem is when the bad guys are the ones watching the cameras.”

            They stepped inside the vestibule, and she swiped the keycard through the reader.  They entered an air-conditioned lobby with polished stone tile, soft lighting, and potted ferns.  Ansel Adams prints, probably reproductions, hung on the walls. 

            A black man with jug-ears and snow-white hair sat behind a crescent-shaped granite desk, bifocals balanced on his nose, a book resting near a folded newspaper.

            “Morning, folks,” he said.  “It’s a mess out there, ain’t it?”

            “Sure is,” Anthony said, and Lisa muttered agreement.  They headed toward the bank of stainless steel elevators.

            “You look familiar, young lady,” the doorman said.  “You got kinfolk here?”

            “My baby sister lives on the ninth floor.”

            “Knew I wasn’t blind yet.”  He cackled.  “Y’all have a blessed day now.”

            As the elevator transported them to the upper floors, Anthony said, “Did you notice the old head’s book?”

            She shook her head.  “What was it?”

            “Another book by Bishop Prince.”

            “He’s everywhere, Tony, like I said earlier.  You’ve only lately begun to notice.”

            “The old head seemed like a sweet guy, sort of reminded me of my granddad.  I wonder if that’s what it’s like when dictators take over countries—ordinary people blindly following tyrants.”

            “That’s a disturbing thought.  And probably all-too accurate.”

            The elevator arrived at the ninth floor.  Lisa led him to the door of her sister’s unit and unlocked it.

            “Let’s make this quick,” he said, thinking about the camera that had spied them entering the high-rise.  “I don’t know how much time we’ve got before they track us here.”