29
The next day at lunchtime, Cade was still tired. He needed to get out, at least for a short time. At the stroke of noon, he was out the front doors and onto Peachtree Street, walking towards the mall.
Across the street a man stood reading his paper, his reflection silhouetted against the black glass of the sprawling Atlanta Financial Center building. The man turned and walked in the same direction, parallel, but well behind Cade. In his left hand he keyed the small radio transmitter. “Secure channel,” he said in a low voice.
“Channel secure,” came the crisp reply.
“Subject heading north on foot.”
“Roger that, subject heading north. Keep your distance. Don’t make contact,” said the voice.
At the corner, Cade waited a moment as a MARTA bus cleared before crossing Peachtree Street.
