Benjamin."
"I'll think about it," he said, and switched off the phone before Janus could reply.
When he reached the hangar, the jet's engines were already turning, a low mutter of noise resonating through the open space. The hatches were cycling closed along the cargo bay where the helo was stored, and the robot forklifts had all retreated to the corners of the building, clearing the route to the taxiway. Hardesty was there, and he gave Saxon a withering look as he climbed the boarding ramp.
"Where the hell have you been? You turned off your damned comm!"
"I was taking some air," he shot back. "I got sick of the sight of you."
"Oh, yeah?" Hardesty came closer, crowding him. "You weren't thinking about going AWOL, were you? Because it would be my absolute pleasure to show you the error of that way of thinking." His body language was aggressive, daring Saxon to take a swing at him.
"Hey!" Barrett called down to the pair of them from the top of the ramp. "If you two ladies are done kissin', get your asses on board! We're on a clock here!"
Saxon pushed past and sprinted up the ramp, Hardesty a heartbeat behind him. The ramp was already lifting shut as the jet began to move, the engine noise building.
Namir came back from the forward compartment. Around the dermal ports of his augmentations, the commander's face was red with annoyance.
"We are not waiting for Federova?" said Hermann, from a seat by the windows.
Namir shook his head. "She has her own directives."
"The Kelso woman?"
That seemed to touch a nerve, and Namir looked back at the German, his eyes narrowing. "As much as it disappoints me to say it, that target slipped the net a second time."
"Shoulda sent me" Barrett opined. "I'd have dealt with her."
Namir ignored the comment. "It doesn't matter. Yelena is returning to her primary. She'll shadow our main target and we'll regroup on-site."
"On-site where?" said Saxon, working hard to keep his voice level. "What target? I thought we were done."
"With this, here? For now, yes." Namir gave a terse nod. "But the mission in Detroit was only one element of a larger operation. We're moving to the next phase. That's all you need to know, for the moment." He paused, scanning their faces. "I'd advise all of you to get some rest. It's another twelve hours to our destination."
CHAPTER NINE
Baltimore-Maryland-United States of America
Kelso did her best to sink deeper into her seat, turning her body slightly so that her face was concealed from anyone who might walk past. The rocking motion of the express train's passenger carriage tried to lull her toward sleep, but she was caught in a strange kind of middle state between exhaustion and alertness-unable to truly rest or to stay fully awake.
Each time the train clattered over a set of points she looked up to make sure the noise wasn't the sound of the doors at the far end of the carriage opening; but she need not have worried. There were few other passengers, and most of them had chosen seats on the upper deck, where the view was better. Here on the lower level, it was a noisier and less pleasant place to ride the rails. The express from Washington, D.C., out to Boston was the first leg of the journey to Quebec paid into her ticket; Kelso was scheduled to change trains at Penn Station in New York for the northbound Adirondack route, but she had no intentions of doing so. There were a dozen stops between here and there, and she was already formulating a loose plan based on jumping trains in Philadelphia. She'd wait until the very last second, and vault through the automatic doors as they closed…
Using the ticket was a calculated risk. If she was being tracked, it was likely they'd have people watching the main stations, maybe even someone on the train already-but it was clear that whoever had supplied the ticket, the passport, and the grenade had nothing to do with the
Tyrants. Still, until she knew for sure who her benefactors were or what they wanted, Anna decided to treat everyone with the same level of distrust. Right now, that seemed to be the only thing keeping her alive.
There were small screens set in the back of the seats in front of her, and they blinked into life as the train started to slow, the Baltimore suburbs blurring past on the other side of the rain-slicked windows. After the requisite information displays, the screens automatically switched to a feed from a local news affiliate, the ubiquitous Picus News logo framing image loops of global, national, and local events. Anna held her breath as she saw a portion of the same report that had been playing in her house, in the seconds before the assassin had appeared-the same hazy video replay of what appeared to be her indiscriminately killing dozens of civilians. Angrily, she reached forward and stabbed at the screen, darkening it, but the images were all over the carriage, on other displays here and there. Scowling, she drew into the oversize microfleece jacket, letting it swamp her.
Anna's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the area. She couldn't shake the sense of creeping dread that at any second, some citizen might recognize her, some transport cop would make the connection, some camera might get a good look at her face and flag it. They could be waiting for me in Baltimore, she told herself. Snipers and a takedown unit, ready to swarm onto the train the moment it rolls in. That's how I would play it.
Anna shook off the moment of burgeoning fear and looked around. There was a restroom at the end of the carriage; it could be a bolt hole if she saw police officers or agents boarding to search for her "What the hell am I doing?" It was a moment before she realized the words were her own, the question falling from her lips. The answer was clear, she was running-but where was she running to? Even if she made it to Philadelphia, what then? She wouldn't go to ground there. She'd have to keep moving. But to where? Panic darkened the edges of her thoughts. Anna had no plan for what was going on right now, and that terrified her. She hated the thought of being out of control, caught by fate and chance; and she knew, through long years of serving the law, that sooner or later a criminal ran out of road. How much more of mine is left?
A sudden jolt went through the floor of the carriage and Kelso lurched forward as the train decelerated abruptly with a shriek of brakes.
Somewhere on the upper deck, she heard a child cry out in alarm and the thud of dislodged luggage. Immediately, a red icon flashed into life on the seat-screens and over the animated advertisements along the walls of the cabin. An automated announcement requested that all passengers remain in their seats, but Anna was already up, propelled by nervous energy. Outside, the lights of the communities on Baltimore's southern outskirts were lost as the train rolled into a tunnel, continuing to slow with every passing second. The screech of the brakes dropped in pitch in time to the deceleration, and with a juddering lurch, the train came to a halt. The lamps inside the carriage blinked for a moment, but
Anna was already making her way forward, crouching slightly. She passed an elderly couple who were muttering to each other about the sudden happening, pushed her way to the restroom door-and halted. She thought about being trapped in there and her gut tightened.
Anna reached into her pocket, found the ticket and passport, and tossed them both into the toilet before setting off again. If they were tracking the arfid chips in the data cards, they would already be zeroing in.
Part of her wondered if she was overreacting-anything could have happened, some mechanical fault, a delayed train on the rails ahead of them, any one of a number of nondangerous reasons why they had stopped-but Kelso knew her own instincts. Throughout her career, every time she had ignored them she had regretted it.
Opening the door to the connecting alcove at the end of the carriage, Anna found herself at the foot of the stairwell leading to the upper deck.