“Internet or phone service?” Ava asks.
“Both. I’ve got nothing.”
Frowning, I ask, “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” he answers with a huff. “Have you ever tried to read a book with a screaming toddler in the house? Or just as you settle down your wife asks you to fix the sink? I have no time to relax.” I raise a brow, and he continues. “Not that I’m complaining, I just wanted some quiet time while I could get it.”
Ava scoots out of the booth and slides back into hers, clicking some keys on her computer. “That’s strange,” she calls across the car, still clicking away. “The train has in-service Wi-Fi. It shouldn’t go out.”
“Has it ever happened before?” I wonder aloud.
“Not that I know of, but I don’t work on the trains.” Closing her computer, she slips across her booth and back into ours. “I’m sure it’s just temporary,” she assures us.
12:20 pm
Philadelphia
Dalton
The conductors who were waiting in the café car stand and exit as the train makes its stop. The way they’re all leaving at the same time, I’m guessing it’s a shift change. I glance over at Ava, who’s staring off into the distance, her brows slightly furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure, but the new conductors aren’t wearing the correct uniform.” She scrunches her nose and purses her lips.
I turn my head and follow the path of her worried gaze. “Looks like an Amtrak uniform to me,” I confess.
“No, they are…they’re just not the right ones.” Lowering her voice, she adds, “We changed the uniforms about two months ago. All the older uniforms were supposed to be disposed of.”
Now that she mentions it, they do look a little different than the conductors who just left, but without her saying something, I never would have noticed. The doors close and the train begins to move again, the new conductors dispersing through the cars. They walk right past us without checking the little pieces of paper the last conductor put above our heads telling them where we’re heading.
That’s strange.
I’m not one to panic, but my gut’s telling me something’s not right—I’m just not sure what.
I check my phone, and there’s still no service. I frown, my mouth forming a rigid grimace. We’re in Philadelphia—it’s not like we’re in the middle of a cow field. Even if there was something wrong with the internet on the train, we should still be able to get service from the outside.
A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of my right eye.
Something definitely isn’t right.
This whole situation is making me uneasy.
I look across the booth at Dude, and he nods. “Something’s off,” he mutters under his breath, making sure only we can hear him.
“Yeah, I feel it too.” I lift my chin to Dude. “Your phone working yet?” He shakes his head. “Let me go do a little surveillance and see what’s going on.”
Ava scoots out of the booth to let me pass. “Be careful,” she whispers. “I don’t like this.”
Me either.
“Don’t worry about me. You just stay with Dude. He’ll take care of you if anything should go wrong.” I give Dude a nod, then advance down the aisle toward the front of the train.
I navigate my way through the bouncing train, taking care to observe my surroundings for anything suspicious. So far, it’s just a train full of people looking to get to wherever they’re going. Moving from car to car, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. An occasional mumble from a commuter complaining about the internet, but nothing else. Maybe all my years of looking for suspicious activity is getting the better of me.
I stop in the last car to take a leak and close the door behind me. Just as I’m zipping up, a low voice whispers outside my door. “Is everything ready?”
It’s not the words that cause the hair on the back of my neck to stand, it’s the language it’s spoken in.
Dari.
Dari is the widely spoken language of Afghanistan.
“Yes. Everyone is in place and the bomb has been set,” another voice answers in Dari.
“Good. It’s time,” the first man says, his voice fading as he walks away.
Fuck—this isn’t good.
Counting to ten, I slowly open the door. I peer past the opening, just enough to make sure it’s clear. Once I know it’s safe, I bolt down the center of the car. As I exit one car and enter another, voices in Dari from behind me scream for everyone to move.
I’m a car ahead, and so long as I don’t get tripped up, I’ll make it back to Ava in time. I keep going, knowing if I don’t get to her something bad will happen. I exit the last car and careen through the café car. Dude sees me and jumps to his feet—but Ava’s not here.
“Where’s Ava?” I pant, searching for any sign of her.
“She had to go to the bathroom,” he answers. “What’s going on?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I whisper, “We’ve got to get out of sight. I’ll explain in a minute.” Passengers start to scream, and the terrorists’ voices get louder. I scoop up my phone from the table and rush to the back of the car. “C’mon,” I growl, “they’re getting close. We need to move. Now.” With a nod, Dude and I haul ass through two cars to the back of the train. We search every inch, but there’s nowhere to hide. And since it’s an express, there’s no baggage car.
The last car of an Amtrak is the same as the front car.
An engine.
We’re going to have to exit the train and hope for the best.
Dude searches for somewhere to hole up, but comes up empty. “What now?”
I notice two doors on either side of the car. “Out,” I answer, lifting my chin toward one of the exits.
His jaw ticks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You have a better idea?” I challenge. “There’s nowhere else to go but out, and if what I think is happening is happening, they can’t know we’re here.”
Opening the door closest to me, I glance at the outside of the train, looking for a footing. There’s a rail on either side of the door with a small platform underneath with just enough room to stand. Problem is, the train is going close to a hundred miles an hour at this point and will get faster. This is going to be tricky. “Set your watch for ten minutes. That should be plenty of time,” I shout over the wind. We both synchronize our watches. “You ready?” I ask Dude, who closes his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.
“No, but do I have a choice?” he yells back.
Hearing the terrorists over the deafening wind, I know they’re close. We have a minute at most to pull this off.
“We need to do this now,” I order. Rolling his eyes, Dude opens his door and waits for my count. “Three…two…one…go!”
Grabbing the bar that’s closest to the back of the train, I swing my body out with my feet, landing on the bar. I reach to grab the door handle and shut it behind me. The sheer force of the wind from the speed of the train is enough to pry any normal person loose from their grip—but we’re not normal people.
We’re SEALs.
Using all my strength, I pull my body as close to the train as possible, so the terrorists don’t see me if they look out the window.
Now, I wait—and the wait is killing me. I need to find Ava and make sure she’s all right, but I need to think this through first. There are tons of possible targets as this train travels all the way to Boston, but I’d put my money on Manhattan. That’s the big fish.
If there is a bomb on this train, and I have no reason to doubt there isn’t, blowing it up while in Penn Station would disrupt travel for months, possibly years.
Not to mention the Empire State Building is on top of the station.
No—that’s their target.
Now it all makes sense.
The uniforms. The phone and internet disruption.
This is a well-organized attack on American soil.
<
br /> The alarm on my phone alerts me it’s time to reenter the train. Saying a silent prayer, I reach and open the door. I give it a push as I swing my leg around, landing on the inside of the engine room. Dude arrives the same as me.
“What the fuck?” he says as he closes the door.
Glancing out the engine room door, I check to make sure no one is around. “When I was in the john, I overheard two men speaking in Dari about a bomb on board,” I mutter as I continue to peek through the door. There’s no one in sight. My guess is they corralled all the passengers toward the front.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growls as he paces around the small space.
“I wish. So much for a fun weekend with the boys.”
“There’s no way to contact the outside world since the phones are down,” he admits, checking his phone again. “Still no service.”
“I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I think this was a very well-planned terrorist attack.”
“You think there’s a jammer on board?” he gasps as realization spreads across his face.
“I do,” I answer with a nod. “We need to find it.”
He stops pacing. “We need to find that bomb.”
“It’s a good thing there’s an explosives expert on board this train,” I add.
“Once we find the jammer, we’ll look for the bomb,” Dude says, and he’s right.
“I think their target is Penn Station.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he blurts, being careful to keep his voice hushed. “There’s thousands of people inside that station at any time.”
“Exactly,” I grunt.
Then I remember.
Ava.
“Why did you let Ava go off by herself?” I growl.
“She’s a grown ass woman. What was I going to do, tell her no?”
“Yes,” I snap, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger. “You tell her not to do anything until I get back.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. She couldn’t have done what we just did,” Dude argues. “If she were able to hold on, and that’s a big if, there wasn’t enough room on that tiny platform.”
I know he’s right, but this makes matters more complicated.
I take a deep breath, and focus. “All right. Let’s go find the jammer.”
Ava
I open the heavy door to the bathroom and lock it. I’ve only just met Dalton, but I’m worried. The way Dalton and Faulkner looked at each other, it’s as if they know something bad is going to happen. In the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, he’s gotten under my skin, and I don’t want to see him get hurt. They could just be paranoid, though. Maybe this crew didn’t have a chance to turn in their old uniforms yet.
It’s possible.
There could be something wrong with the wireless connection on the train, too.
I don’t know, but I don’t like feeling this way.
Screaming outside my door brings me back to the now. Lots of screaming. I freeze, not moving a muscle. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself. Then, I hear a high-pitched squeal. The same squeal I heard on the platform waiting for the train.
The little boy.
He’s crying for his mommy.
I can’t stay here and hide. I need to help him.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I burst out of the bathroom and move toward the wailing child. A man in the old Amtrak uniform grips around the little boy’s arm as he struggles to get out of his hold and back to his parents. They’re huddled by the door, herded there with a bunch of other passengers, the mother sobbing into the father’s chest.
“Let go of him,” I scream, lunging toward him.
I must have startled the man. As he turns toward me, the boy is able to break free and runs toward his parents.
“Where did you come from?” he asks in broken English. The accent is thick, maybe middle eastern, but he doesn’t look like someone from there. He’s a blond-haired, blue-eyed man.
Before I can answer, a sharp pain radiates from the back of my head. For a split second I see stars, then I fall forward. Two men rush toward me, shouting orders in some foreign dialect I cannot understand. With the pain in my skull worsening, my vision becomes blurry and I hit the floor.
Hard.
More shouting from the men with the accents.
More screaming above me, coming from every direction.
As my vision begins to clear, I’m pulled off the floor by my arm, then pushed up against one of the seats. “You should have answered your phone, Ava,” a voice growls in my ear.
I blink, trying to rid my eyes of the blur and focus on the man standing in front of me. The voice is familiar, yet something’s different.
Maybe it’s the tone, or the way he says my name.
Maybe it’s because my head is pounding and I’m not thinking straight.
Maybe it’s because I’m in denial, and I can’t believe it could be him.
Brian.
“I-I don’t underst-stand,” I stutter, trying to get a grip. Am I dreaming this, or is my ex-fiancé standing in front of me, holding an assault rifle?
“What’s to understand?” he sneers. Moving closer, he slaps me across the face. “You could have blown this for us. You were never supposed to step foot on this train. But now that you’re here, you’ll die with the rest of them.”
“What are you talking about?” I gasp. “What are you doing?”
“Bring the hostages to the café car,” Brian commands. Raising their guns, three men corral the passengers and shove them toward the middle of the train, leaving Brian alone with me. He grips my cheeks in between his thumb and middle finger, and squeezes. “My parents were blown up during an attack in Gaza – a raid orchestrated by the United States. Right in front of me.”
“You’re a Muslim?” I can barely get the words out of my mouth. How could I not have known?
“I am part of the Islamic Jihad Union, and they will be getting credit for this bombing.”
“Bombing! Ohmigod, Brian! What have you done?” I whimper, my body shaking in terror.
“Soon, the city of Manhattan will be in ruins. There’s enough explosives on this train not to just take down the Empire State Building, but the surrounding blocks as well.” His eyes are wild, with more white visible than iris.
Crazy eyes.
“You’re insane,” I blurt in horror. His lips twist up into a demonic smile—one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“When we descend on the streets of London, Paris, and New York City… not only will we spill your blood, but we will also demolish your statues, erase your history, and convert your children, who will then go on to champion our name and curse their forefathers.” He presses his fingers deeper into my skin, then releases me with a push. “I’ve been planning this for years. Why do you think I chose you?”
“Chose me?” I sputter as I try to quell my panic. I’m frozen in place, afraid if I move he’ll kill me.
“You worked for Amtrak—I needed access to your laptop. But then you broke off our engagement and moved out. All I needed was another few weeks…then I would have known the uniforms were being changed. But it doesn’t matter. No one noticed.”
“No one but me,” I snarl. I wasn’t about to tell him about Dalton and Faulkner. I hope they were able to hide somewhere. I don’t want to think about the alternative. “You used me!” I curl my fingers into a fist, my nails cutting into my skin.
“When your Lord revealed to the angels, ‘Truly I am with you. So, keep firm those who have believed. I will strike terror into the hearts of those who have disbelieved. So, strike them at the necks and cut off their fingers.’”
“That’s bullshit,” I argue. “No God wants us to kill each other. You’re misinterpreting the Quran.”
“Americans are non-believers. Americans come to our country and try to make us conform to how they think we should act. Americans need to be destroyed.”
“The
re are defenseless children on this train!” I shriek. Who is this man, and why didn’t I see it sooner? He’s gone completely mad. The rage in his eyes is new—I would have noticed that.
Grabbing my arm, he thrusts me across the car. “Let’s go await your destiny,” he proclaims as he shoves me toward the huddled masses squished into the booths.
Dalton
Dude and I move like ninjas through the back compartments. After the third car, we see them: passengers huddled in booths and on the floor of the concession area with four gunmen dressed in Amtrak uniforms standing over them. There has to be more than four terrorists. Where are the others?
“I have an idea, but it’s risky,” I whisper to Dude.
“I’m not going to let you do anything stupid,” he warns.
“Just hear me out,” I argue. “You search the cars for the jammer. I’m going to waltz right in there like I’m a lost passenger without a clue. They’ll sit me down with the rest, and I can get a better visual of how many terrorists we’re dealing with as well as how many possible casualties.”
“Goddammit, Dalton,” he growls. “It’s too risky. They could shoot you before you make it ten feet.”
A beer bottle rolls out from underneath one of the seats, hitting me in the foot. Smiling, I bend down and pick it up. “It’ll work. Trust me,” I promise. Before he has a chance to tell me I’m crazy, I whisper, “Keep your head on a swivel.”
Opening the door separating the cars, I stumble through. I make it about five feet before one of the terrorist has his assault rifle pointed at me. “Stay where you are!” he shouts.
I continue to bumble across the train, beer bottle firmly in my grip. “Where did everyone go?” I slur. “I was in the shitter and when I came out the car was empty. I need another beer,” I announce, taking the bottle and turning it upside down.
“Don’t move!” another Amtrak employee with a gun shouts, but I keep on staggering.
“Anyone got a beer?” I ask, falling forward onto my knees. As I go down, I catch a glimpse of Ava, whose face is as white as a ghost. Red oozes from behind her ear, and my blood runs cold. I clench my jaw and reign in my anger.
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