The Best Place to Hide Is In Plain Sight
Sometimes the best places to hide are in plain sight. The four suits in sunglasses power walked up the street, two in front and two behind, faces stony.
On this block was a Catholic church built in the 1800s of stone. Its stained glass windows lightly reverberated with the sound of the Mass choir belting out a hymn. I pushed inside.
I composed myself and quietly chose a pew in the middle in front of a lady with a huge hat. The men entered behind me and stood waiting for the people to file out of the pews for communion. They could pick me out easily then.
But they wouldn’t make a fuss.
As I knelt on the plush carpet, I saw them move to flank me; one on each side, and I assumed one or two behind me.