Page 147 of The Oligarch's Daughter

Lucas shook his head, unwilling to explain. “We’ve got repeaters. Human repeaters, just like the Afghanis. Extends across most of the country.”

“Jesus, how many people are we talking?”

“Nearly fifty thousand, all told. Why you so interested?”

“I’ve just never heard—”

Lucas interrupted him. “You got a plan? Or are you just running?”

“I—I have someone I want to talk to.”

“On the phone or—”

“Gotta be in person,” Paul said.

“Where?”

“Western Mass. Near Lenox.”

“And how you plan to get there?”

“Bus,” Paul said. Trains were out: Amtrak required a government ID. He worried about buying another used car: too many cameras record your license plate.

“Bus terminals have cameras, you know, just like train stations and airports,” Lucas said. “More and more places use facial recognition. You can bet the FBI has sent your picture to every bus terminal and train station and airport in the country.”

“So you have a recommendation?”

“Freight trains. You want to move without Big Brother noticing, hop a freight train. I’ll tell you how to do it when the time comes.”

“Huh.” That sounded like an easy way to get killed or dismembered.

“You thinking of going off grid? Not so easy, unless you do it the way we do it.”

Paul thought for a moment. He’d come to trust this guy. “I changed my identity,” he said. “Hid out for a long while.”

“How long?”

“Five years.”

Lucas whistled. “Ain’t easy these days. Digital era. I’m guessing you couldn’t use credit cards.”

“I used Visa and Amex gift cards. Bought with cash.”

“You had a job?”

“Built boats.”

“Probably paid in cash, right?”

Paul nodded.

“Wore a disguise?”

“Not really. A beard, that’s it, but lots of guys have beards these days.”

“Gotta obey all the rules. Never break the law.”

Paul shrugged.

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