believe they'd searched his rental car. Good thing he'd made other provisions to send the goods north. Did he look like a drug mule? Hell no. Even in his disguise, it should have been apparent to the cops that he was above that kind of thing.
Now there would be a detailed record of him crossing the border, even if it was under an alias, he hated to leave a loose end dangling. He glared at a woman clutching a toddler's hand as they impeded his way on the sidewalk. He skirted around them, his irritation adding to his foul mood. It still angered him that he'd been forced to use his last established alias.
He'd already burned through three for this trip. Not only did it cost him money to create a new one to replace the used ones, but it took time to build a legitimate history for each one. Sure, Tom Peterson, his newest identity, had a paper history, but a good detective would be able to cut through it if he was looking. Adrian hated to use it to buy his bus and train tickets, it was a potential paper trail, but there was no way around it. At least he'd had the foresight to keep this complete identity package at Sonya's home in El Paso.
Despite the cold drizzle, the memory of Sonya's welcome embrace warmed him. She was the only woman who understood him. When he achieved the power due him, he would bring her to the new compound, when he established it.
As a cab drove by and splashed him with dirty water, he vowed it was going to be sooner rather than later and definitely not in Chicago. Sonya's pitiful begging to come with him to Chicago had almost swayed him, but he'd placated her by telling her of his need for a place to hideout, a bolt hole, if needed.
He'd contemplated buying a plane ticket, but security at airports was too tight. The chances were slim that anyone would recognize him with his blond hair, but he wasn't taking any chances.
Taking the 'L'was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was the last train he'd have to take for awhile. As he settled onto the hard plastic seat, he froze. On the floor of the train was a bright yellow flyer with Mark Taylor's photo. He ignored the dirty look from the woman on the opposite seat as he lunged from his seat and snatched the paper off the floor.
Mark swished the developer over the prints, wondering if this time, the magic would return. It had been a week since he'd taken pictures of the cult's building. Those photos hadn't developed into anything special, but the energy had returned to the device. It had been a week since then and even without the future photos, Mark had been busy. Jim and Jessie had been busy doing their own parts, putting word on the street about the revival. With their connections, they could plant information.
Meanwhile, Mark arranged the use of a warehouse, folding chairs and a sound system. It was almost a good thing he didn't have any future photos to worry about. Tomorrow was the big day, and his stomach was tied up in knots. Even though his 'capture' would be faked, just the thought of having to re-enact something like that made him shiver. He forced the thought out of his head as he noted the images emerging on the prints.
Damn. Deja-vu.
Lily and Jessie looked up from where they were hunched over a floor plan of the warehouse as Mark approached with the still damp photos, and held up the prints, his feelings mixed as he announced, 'I have pictures.'
Jessie held a red pen poised over the paper. 'You mean, you have pictures? Future ones? '
'Yep.'
Lily beamed at him. 'I told you. The camera was waiting for you to be healed before putting you back to work.'
He gingerly rotated his shoulder. It was far from completely healed, but he didn't need the sling anymore, and that was a relief. 'Maybe, except while I have pictures, it would have been nice to start out with something easy. Instead, it looks like a repeat of my kidnapping.'
Jessie tossed the pen on to the desk and stepped over to him, her hand out to see the photos. 'Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the kidnapping, and it's not real, so it shouldn't be all that shocking.'
'Yeah, well, even if the photo depicts a staged scene, it's still a little disconcerting to see a photo of myself lying in a puddle of blood.'
Lily rubbed her hand up his arm, her expression concerned, before turning her attention to the pictures. She tilted her head to look at the images as Jessie flipped through them.
Mark crossed his arms as he watched them examine the shots. Jim's idea had been okay in theory, but now that he could see the outcome, it wasn't looking so promising.
Jessie held one up. 'I'm not positive, but the tall guy in the background could be Kern.'
He shook his head. 'I suppose it's possible, but he's out of focus so it's impossible to tell.'
Lily pointed to another shadowy figure. 'Is that Medea?'
Mark shrugged, and instantly regretted it as the muscles, unused for so long, protested the sudden movement. 'It's a woman with her build, but the hair color is wrong. That's all I can tell.' He waved a hand at the stack of photos.'Truthfully, I barely looked at those pictures. The other one I mentioned sort of took priority in my mind.'
Jessie moved that photo to the top of the pile. 'I can see how it might.' Her eyes met his, and he was sure the fear in hers mirrored his own.
Lily squeezed his arm and said, 'Mark, I know it looks bad, but you can change this like you do your other photos-don't forget that.'
He tore his gaze from Jessie and took a deep breath before focusing on Lily. 'Yeah, I'm trying to keep that in mind. Guess I should let Jim know about this new development.' He tried to smile at his bad pun, but if it looked as sickly as it felt, it wouldn't fool either of the women.
Jim exited the car, and slammed the door of the old beater. He tugged on the ragged Army surplus jacket, and ran a hand over his unshaven face. As soon as he'd begun contemplating the ruse, he'd forgone shaving, and in just a few days, he had a nice bristly shadow. The amount of gray whiskers mixed with the dark ones had been an unwelcome surprise, but he had to concede it lent him a scraggly look that he couldn't have acquired any other way. To finish the transformation to Reverend Jim, he'd obtained a hair piece of long, stringy gray hair. Undercover operations had plenty of people who'd been able to help him change his appearance completely.
With a slow look around the seedy neighborhood, Jim sauntered up to the front door of the house believed to be the headquarters of the Guild of the Rose.
The house had been under surveillance since it had been discovered, and word had come that Kern might be in the residence. Nobody had seen him enter, but someone matching his height and build had been seen silhouetted against a shade.
Jim knocked.
After about thirty seconds a woman's voice came through the intercom. “Who is it?'
Jim smiled. 'Hi, ma'am. My name's Reverend Jim, and I'm here to talk to y'all about a meetin' I'm planning.'
'You must have the wrong building. Nobody here is interested in a 'meetin'.'
Rubbing a hand against his whiskers, Jim shook his head. 'Well, see, that's not how we heard it. We heard that the Rose had an big interest in Mark Taylor. I just thought y'all might want to take a gander at him in a few nights. He's the guest of honor at a revival I'm planning. We was wonderin' if y'all might want to help out'
Muffled voices came over the intercom, and a minute later, a young woman opened the door. 'Come in. We'd like to hear more.'
'Yes, ma'am. I thought you would.' He grinned and followed her down a flight of steps into a large dimly lit room that probably was a laundry room at one time. Chairs lined up six rows deep and about ten chairs per row. This confirmed the estimate that the Guild had expanded. A podium anchored one end of the room, but the woman led Jim to the far end.
'Have a seat, please. Someone will be with you in a moment.'
Jim obliged and relaxed against the back of the metal folding chair, his hands intertwined behind his head,
