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.“Go downstairs and wait for me.I’ll be there in a minute.”Nodding, she took the luggage and scurried down the steps.He looked around the corner, into the main corridor of the lobby.Cutty had pushed through the revolving doors at the front of the building.He had his hand inside his jacket.He attempted to appear non-threatening, but his eyes were deadly blue points as he scanned the station.Anthony ducked inside the men’s restroom.Vacant.Above the trashcan, there was a red emergency phone mounted on the wall, used to summon MARTA security.He quickly ran down his options.He had plenty of firepower, and might be able to win a gunfight with Cutty, but a shootout in a public place would put the lives of innocents at risk.No good.Do something else.He picked up the handset and pressed “0,” according to the posted instructions.After two rings, a tired-sounding woman answered.“Good morning, MARTA security.How may I help you?”“A man just entered the Sandy Springs station,” Anthony said.“Blonde, short, wearing a dark raincoat and a black tracksuit.He’s armed with a gun and plans to board a train.”“Sir, can you please—“He hung up.Gaze on his watch, he waited, one hand underneath his shirt and resting on the butt of the revolver.After two uneventful minutes, he stepped outside the restroom.The MARTA police officers were escorting Cutty out of the station.Cutty was protesting furiously, face tomato-red.Anthony scrambled down the steps to the boarding area.He found Lisa beside a MARTA BREEZE card vending machine, rocking nervously on her heels, suitcase beside her.When she saw him, relief passed over her face.“I saw that guy, Cutty,” she said.“As soon as he came down the steps, two cops stopped him.Did you have something to do with that?”“I told them he had a gun.Boarding a train with a firearm is a big no-no these days.”“But we’ve got guns, too.”“They don’t know that, though, do they?”Shaking her head and smiling, she swiped a BREEZE card through the turnstile, passed it back to him, and he slid it through.They dashed across the concrete platform to the southbound train, and boarded the passenger car at the end.He wanted to see every person who walked onto the platform.Lisa sat on one of the seats facing forward, but he remained standing, gripping a hand strap for support.Watching.“We’re safe now, baby,” she said.“You can relax.”“Not yet.”A young husband and wife dressed for a tropical vacation boarded, laden with luggage.Anthony glanced at Lisa, and read the same thought in her eyes: they both wished they were heading to the airport to fly to some far-flung, relaxing destination.He returned his attention to the platform.Even after the doors whooshed closed, and the releasing brakes sighed, and the train began to crawl forward, he still watched.“We’re safe,” Lisa said.The train pulled out of the station.“Sit.” She grasped his hand, tugged him.He finally sat next to her, placing the duffel between his feet.“There’s no way they can find us now,” she said.“We’re off the radar.”He nodded.But when he noticed the surveillance camera mounted in the upper corner of the compartment, his gut tightened.45Cutty slammed the Suburban’s door so hard the entire vehicle shuddered.“Goddamn cops!” he said.“They wouldn’t let me get near the fucking train ‘cause someone told them I had a gun! I know it was that goddamn Thorne! Shit!”“Si,” Valdez said in a calm tone.“No can carry guns on train.Is law.”“It’s not God’s law! We answer only to God—not a couple of prick cops! I should’ve killed them both!”He punched the dashboard, bruising his thick knuckles against the console, and nevertheless bashed it again, and again.Valdez watched him quietly, as if he were a child throwing a temper tantrum and she was the responsible adult.That condescending look of hers put the lid on his rage.She was the rookie here; he was the veteran warrior.He needed to act like it.After all, God was always watching, always judging, and would not approve of his childish behavior and foul language.He would need to seek forgiveness for these transgressions.But this mission was testing him.He’d flashed his U.S.Marshal badge at the dolts, a fake that looked as credible as the genuine article, and the assholes had insisted that he wait in their office until they confirmed his identity.He’d given them the number to call to validate his ID—a number that would be answered by a member of their organization—and the dickheads had said they would follow their own confirmation procedures, thank you very much, sir, come with us, please, at which point he had stormed out.The cocksuckers.They were supposed to obey without question.They were supposed to be on his side.Although he’d come close to blowing the cops away, in hindsight, killing them would have caused more trouble than it was worth.Their organization had high-ranking servants and powerful contacts in law enforcement, making the police agencies invaluable allies
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