by L. T. Ryan
When the platform was almost empty, Blake boarded and found Haeli. She clutched her purse with both hands. The caboodle saved his seat. He moved it to the floor.
“We’re good,” Blake said. “Smooth sailing from here on out. I’ll book the flights on the way. As long as we get through the airport without any problems, Kaytlin Richards and Cody Hodson will be home free.”
The last few passengers trickled in. The visible section of the platform was empty, and everyone was seated. Blake checked his watch.
One minute and twenty seconds off schedule.
The doors remained open.
Across the aisle was a blonde woman and her young child. Blake made eye contact with her. Her mouth twitched the beginnings of a smile and she looked away.
A low murmur filled the car. Hushed conversations, for now. Until the rattling would force everyone to raise their voices to the level of a barroom brawl.
From the next car forward, a kid with spiky hair, wearing a dog collar and a worn Beatles t-shirt, came through the adjoining door and continued down the aisle. As he passed Blake, he looked right at him, extended a thumb and pinky from his closed fist, and stuck his tongue out, as if trying to lick his chin. Blake wondered if it was some kind of punk rocker code, like the way people who drive Jeep Wranglers wave at each other on the street. Blake responded with an air fist bump. The kid plopped down in a seat a few rows behind.
Blake leaned toward Haeli. “Are the Beatles cool again?”
She looked in no mood. “Why aren’t we moving yet?”.
Blake didn’t have an answer. The doors sat open. The whole train and platform, idle. Technical issues, maybe?
A moment later, they got their answer.
Two policemen entered at the front of the car. A third lingered on the platform, just outside the door.
Haeli reached over and squeezed Blake’s leg.
The officers moved down the aisle, row by row, swinging their heads back and forth as if scanning the faces of each passenger.
When the first one reached Blake and Haeli, he paused. Gave them a harder look than the rest. Blake had a feeling it was about to get ugly.
From behind, he heard a commotion. Dog collar kid had sprung out of his seat and was sprinting for the rear door.
The officers gave chase. Out onto the platform, they disappeared. Voices yelling, keys jingling, boots pounding—a whirlwind of sound and fury, all receding into the distance.
After a second of eerie silence, the car erupted. Passengers whooped and chattered about the show they just witnessed, until being hushed by the crackling of the loudspeaker.
“We apologize for the delay,” the announcer said, in German. “Standby for departure.”
Doors closed, wheels turned, and two pairs of lungs exhaled.
39
“How long to Dijon?” Haeli asked.
“Twenty minutes or so, why?”
“Maybe we should get off there.”
“Get off there? Why? Dijon’s the last stop. After that, it’s straight through to Paris. What would be the upside?”
Haeli wrapped her hand around the inside of his bicep and pulled him closer. She spoke to his ear. “That couple, three rows ahead, on the right. The woman keeps stealing glances at me. I think she knows.”
Blake had noticed them coming in from the next car, about fifteen minutes after stopping in Mulhouse, but hadn’t paid them much attention since. The man, who sat on the aisle, was clean cut and wore an untucked Oxford shirt. The woman, to his right, wore her hair pulled back tight and a collared button-down blouse. There was nothing unusual about them.
For the next few minutes, he devoted more attention to the pair. He decided they did fit the profile of police detectives or agents, but that didn’t mean anything. If they were cops, they’d probably have acted already. And even if they were civilians who simply recognized her, they most likely would have left the car by then to alert someone.
The only peculiar thing Blake could nitpick was the way they were interacting. Or not interacting.
When they entered the car, they were talking. Chummy, like they’d known each other for a long while. Once they sat, they were stiff and quiet. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything either.
He wavered back and forth. Now Haeli was getting into his head.
“Na. I wouldn’t worry about it,” he finally told her.
She seemed placated.
Blake took her hand and they sat in silence for a while. Blake’s mind wandered. He thought about Haeli wrapped up in his jacket, asleep in the car. He thought about Fezz and Khat and Griff and wondered if they were home safely. And he thought about his lab. How he had pushed the big red button.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Haeli asked.
“Nothing.”
“Ya know what I was thinkin’ about? Our conversation in the cab. When you asked if I ever thought about marriage.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you no. I feel like I wasn’t being completely honest. I have. I mean, there’ve been a few times I thought I might be open to the possibility. Like when I was a young girl, before I knew what my life would really be like, I’d fantasize about the beautiful white gown and all of that. But then, before I knew it, I was neck deep in a world where that kind of attachment wasn’t even feasible. As time went on, I guess I started telling myself that getting married was pointless and stupid, just to make myself feel better about not having the option.”
“Believe me, I get it. We tell ourselves a lot of things.”
“I don’t know why I thought of it. I guess just to set the record straight. I don’t really think it’s stupid.”
“Okay.”
Blake wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at. Was she trying to nudge him toward a proposal? How else could he read it? The truth was, he’d propose to her in a second if it was what she wanted. The diamond ring shouldn’t pose much of a problem, anyway.
He let his gaze float toward the couple. For a split second, he caught the woman’s eye. She looked away with furtive flair.
Not good.
“Ya know what? I think you were right. The station should be coming up in a couple minutes, we should be prepared to get off.”
“I knew it,” she said. “I told you.”
Blake grabbed the caboodle and her hand. They got up and moved to the front of the car near the door, keeping the suspicious pair in his peripheral vision.
The woman leaned over to her left to say something to her partner. Blake caught a glimpse of something in her right ear.
They’re agents.
Blake levered the handle and slid the connecting door. He walked through, knowing Haeli would follow. Another door and they were in the next car. It slid closed behind them.
“She has an earpiece,” Blake said. “I saw the look in her eye. They know. Keep moving.”
They moved through the aisle until they reached the front of the car.
“So when we hit the station, we run?”
“We’ll have to. But you can bet there’s gonna be more waiting for us.”
The shush of the outside air filled the car as the rear door slid open and the agents stepped in.
Even across the length of the crowded train car, there was an unspoken acknowledgement. A head tilt, a blink, the rise and fall of their chests. A “we know that you know that we know that you know” kind of vibe.
Ready. Set.
“Go.”
Haeli pushed open the forward door and they ran. Dodging wingtips and computer bags poking into the aisle.
The agents burst into the car, behind them. Tense mouths and narrow eyes.
Blake and Haeli blurred through the next car. And the next.
The agents kept pace.
In the fifth, a man stood in the aisle, reaching for the rack above his empty seat. A small child stood next to him. Without stopping, Haeli shouldered the man out of the way, scooped up the child and deposited him on the seat. As they crossed into t
he next car, Blake could hear the agents trying to get around the irate man.
Then there was a groan. Blake could feel the floor shifting beneath his feet, the change in momentum making each step less stable.
“We’re stopping. Get ready.”
Another car. The columns along the platform ticked by the windows. Slower and slower.
The loudspeaker. “Dijon-Ville”
Haeli grabbed the handle of the next connecting door. It was locked.
“End of the line, Mick.”
Through the forward window, Blake could see the steel skin of the engine.
The train rocked and then settled.
The agents burst through the rear door. They pulled their guns.
There was screaming and yelling. Both from the agents and the passengers, who covered their heads and ducked below their seats.
With a chime, the main doors opened onto the platform.
Blake and Haeli made a break for it. Pushing through a group already trying to board.
Haeli stayed close, the front of her shoulder against the back of his.
They cut through the crowd at a diagonal and joined a group heading toward the train.
Blake pulled the wig from his head and stashed it under his armpit. Haeli took the cue and did the same.
They pressed up against the group as tight as they could.
Others crowded behind them as they funneled back on board, one car away from where they exited.
Haeli dropped into a seat and scooted over toward the window, facing the platform. She slouched. Blake shoved in next to her, bending at the waist to peer through the window beside her. From the outside, two foreheads pasted to the glass.
Blake picked out at least two other agents, carrying walkie-talkies and pushing their way through the thinning crowd. He pointed them out to Haeli.
One of the men intercepted the agents from the train. They spoke. He pointed at the stairs. They started to move. A play in three acts, performed in under an instant.
Then, as if by magic, all three descended, vanishing into the station.
Over the thumping of his heartbeat, Blake heard the chime.
The doors closed. And two pairs of lungs held their breath.
40
“Paris Gare de Lyon.” The announcement blared.
Blake and Haeli stayed seated. This time they’d file out in an orderly fashion.
During the final leg, they had walked back several cars to find an open restroom. Luckily, the man Haeli had crashed into must have gotten off at Dijon.
It had been a trick, dressing in the three-by-three restroom, but they were able to manage it. One at a time, they’d gone in as one person, and returned as another. And since it was located at the back of the car, no one took notice. Had the restroom been at the front, it would have been a whole different, more public event.
Strangely, Blake felt more comfortable in the new role than his last. Although he had grown into it, “Draven” was the kind of character that sought to attract attention. This new guy was just the opposite.
The sum of the overly large suit, seventies hair, glasses, and mustache had an instant wallflower effect. Or at least that’s how it felt.
Haeli wasn’t as inconspicuous. Tight dress, blonde hair, supermodel makeup. No, she was going to turn some heads.
After the completion of their transformations, they slipped into the next car back, one at a time. Some of the passengers, who started in Zurich or Mulhouse, would have seen them running past earlier in the trip. The fact that no one seemed to make the connection was affirmation the disguises were doing their jobs.
The train stopped, and the passengers began gathering their belongings and making their way to the platform. Blake took the caboodle. They had packed out the old costumes, which they would toss in the trash at the earliest opportunity.
Next to Blake, an elderly woman struggled to tip her bag from the rack above her head. He helped her, throwing in a little good-natured flirtation. She gave it right back to him.
As she made her way down the aisle, Blake and Haeli trailed behind her. Slowly but surely, they reached the platform.
“Ol’ Pari.” Blake smiled.
“I would kiss the ground if I could.”
“Just keep your eyes peeled. We should have no problem walking right out of here. I’m guessing every gendarme within a hundred-mile radius is bearing down on Dijon as we speak.”
“It’s not the Gendarmerie we’ve gotta worry about here, it’s the National Police.”
They followed the droves into the main terminal. In a lot of ways Gare de Lyon was similar to Zurich HB, but with less retail.
“If for whatever reason we get separated,” Haeli said, “we’ll need a meeting spot. How about the Lufthansa ticket counter? Four o’clock.”
“That’s fine. But there won’t be any need. Look at those guys.” He pointed. “No one’s looking.”
Several officers stood by the turnstiles leading into the terminal, but they seemed to be focused on their normal duties.
“Good, ‘cause I’ve gotta use the bathroom.”
“We were just in the bathroom on the train, didn’t you go then?”
“I didn’t have to go then.”
“Uh.” Blake looked around. The signs were easily visible. Toilettes. They headed that way. “Hurry.”
Haeli trotted away and disappeared into the tiled maze marked “Femmes.”
Blake waited impatiently for ten seconds before he remembered he was still carrying the caboodle. He took it into the men’s restroom with the intention of burying it in the trash.
Unfortunately, the slender metal trash slots wouldn’t allow that to happen. Instead, he opened the case and, when no one was looking, removed the pile of hair and fabric, and stuffed it through the slot. He’d leave the empty case somewhere else. Now that it was empty, it wouldn’t matter if it was found.
As he was leaving, he walked by a full-length mirror. It caught his eye as if it were a doorway through which a complete stranger was approaching. He gave himself a once over. Yep, he really did look ridiculous.
To make matters worse, he noticed that the right side of the mustache had come unstuck and was flapping outward when he moved his mouth. He felt his pocket. The bottle of spirit gum was still there. But he decided this particular beauty regimen was better done in private.
Locking himself in a stall, he removed the cap and brush and dabbed the gum on his upper lip by feel. He pressed the mustache flat and held it until it felt secure.
With makeup touched up and a passing grade on a final mirror check, he headed back into the terminal.
By the water fountains between the two restrooms, he stood with a group of men who took turns looking at their watches and at the entrance to the ladies’ room. A kind of male purgatory, to which all men with wives or girlfriends are eventually relegated. Waiting and waiting. And waiting.
Blake gave it a few minutes before starting to worry. Then another few minutes passed.
This isn’t right.
Haeli was always quick. Hell, he’d seen her incapacitate a group of armed men in less time. At any other time, in any other place, he’d have wandered off to entertain himself with something or another. But under the circumstances, he had good reason to worry. It was nearly ten minutes since he’d watched her go in.
His mind started to play the worst-case scenario game. What if something happened while he was in the men’s room? Had she come out to a garrison of police officers waiting to haul her off? Not possible. There would have been a ruckus. The terminal remained status quo.
That’s it, I’m going after her.
There were some things that struck fear into the hearts of all men. The women’s room was one of them. Going into an Al-Qaeda compound in Kandahar was an easier decision. And less dangerous.
Blake broke away from the group, stashed the caboodle on the floor by the fountains, and slipped into the abyss. Whatever was about to happen, his new group of
friends weren’t to blame. They tried to warn him. Shouts of “Wrong one, buddy,” and “You can’t go in there,” echoed off the tile walls and were summarily ignored.
Inside, there were a handful of women at the sinks. Although there hadn’t been any screams or slaps, he was met with a fair helping of shocked and dirty looks. Other than the women who were inside the stalls, the place cleared out in a matter of seconds.
Blake moved down the line of stalls, checking the insides of open ones and banging on the doors of the closed. “Kaitlyn, are you in here?” After receiving no response, he bent down and checked under the doors for Haeli’s clunky dance heels.
She’s not here.
He retreated as fast as he could, but it was too late. One of the fleeing women had fetched an officer, who intercepted Blake as soon as he emerged.
The men’s club looked on in horror.
The officer spoke in French. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Blake responded in a British accent. Why? He didn’t know. Who was to say Professor Peabody wasn’t English?
“I—I—I’m so sorry. I seemed to have gone into the wrong loo. I’m terribly embarrassed. Mortified, really. Pass on my apologies to the ladies, would you, chap?”
Inside, Blake was shaking his head at himself. Chap?
The officer responded in broken English. “Pay attention for next time.”
“Oh no. No next time. Won’t happen again. I can tell you that.”
In the end, the official response consisted of a disgusted look and a cold shoulder as the officer returned to his post.
Blake took several passes around the station, first inside, then out.
She was gone. Of that, he was sure.
She wouldn’t have left on her own, would she?
He was at a loss. But then something she had said reached out from the recent past and smacked him across the face.
If for some reason we’re split up...