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“Thirty-eight.”

“Almost there,” Rajiid said.

Manhar slogged to the platform and hoisted himself back onto it. As he did, he heard the sound of steps running down the stairs. A man wearing a hard hat and a reflective vest stepped into the room. He held a walkie-talkie and stopped when he saw Rajiid, Dattar, Manhar, and Nolan.

“What the hell is going on here?” he said. “This station is gonna be closed for the next three hours. You all have to leave.”

Khalil stepped into view behind the man, raised a gun with a silencer attached and shot the man in the back. Manhar watched the body drop. Nolan made a small, moaning sound.

Rajiid looked annoyed. “I would have talked my way out of that. Told him that we were with MTA. Now when he doesn’t respond to their calls they’ll send someone to check on him.”

Khalil shrugged. “And how long do you think that will take? They’ll call, he won’t answer, they’ll assume he’s busy, and by the time they send another, the water will be cool, the bacteria placed, and we’ll be long gone.” He waved at Manhar. “Toss his body into the tunnel. Far enough in so that he can’t be seen from the platform.”

“And out of the way of any trains. I want the subway operating at full speed during the rush hour, not closed while they remove a dead body,” Dattar said.

Manhar rose and headed to the construction worker’s corpse. The man was at least six feet and had a stomach the size of a basketball. No way was Manhar going to be able to move the body alone.

“I need some help. This guy’s too big.”

“Get up and help him,” Dattar said to Nolan. She hadn’t made any noise other than the moan and Manhar noted that her face once again held the closed expression that she commonly wore. She rose and joined him. He hooked his hands under the man’s armpits and she grabbed his feet by the ankles. Together they hauled him to the platform’s edge and left him there while they jumped down onto the tracks. They grabbed the corpse and started down the tunnel past the water flow. As they walked, it became increasingly dark, and when they left the lighted platform area and entered the tunnel, the only illumination came from the sporadic lamps attached at the ceiling and the signal stands. About fifty feet in, a recessed area allowed for someone to step inside. Manhar nodded at it, and they arranged the body there in a sitting position, being sure to keep the arms folded so that the train conductor wouldn’t see anything on approach. Manhar reached into the man’s pants pocket and removed a wallet. He flipped it open, took the money, and tossed the wallet on the ground next to the man’s feet.

“Come on,” he said. Nolan glanced down the tunnel. It wasn’t difficult for Manhar to read her thoughts, despite her expressionless face. “Forget it. They’ll catch you.”

Nolan turned and followed him, keeping to her usual silence. At the station opening Rajiid shoved the thermometer back at Manhar.

“Check,” he said.

Manhar snatched the device from Rajiid and bit his tongue to avoid snapping “check your own damn water” at him. He dipped it into the stream and pulled it out at the beep.

“Thirty-five,” he said.

Rajiid smiled. “Showtime. You,” he said to Nolan. “Carry the flasks to the edge. Then get on the rails and start applying the gel. I want it applied directly to the third rail, not the cover, so you’ll need to find each slide, where the rail is left exposed, and work the gel through it.”

“Will the water wash it away?” Dattar said.

Rajiid shook his head. “The gel will allow it to be placed despite the water. The bacteria thrives underwater, so it’s not a problem.”

“Should we be here?” Dattar said.

Rajiid waved him off. “It won’t get to you unless you’re standing over it. Now, after the rail goes back on you’ll want to be on your way out of New York City.”

Nolan shuffled over to the cooler and grabbed the metal basket that held four flasks. As she did a drop of blood plopped onto one of the flasks.

“And don’t contaminate the flasks with your blood!” She stood up straighter. Manhar sloshed over to meet her and grabbed a flask.

Manhar smeared the substance in the flask over the third rail, moving into the tunnel to search for the next slide as he did. Nolan worked next to him, keeping her head down and her eyes averted from the area where they’d hidden the body. Manhar worked as fast as he could. The cooling water would allow the third rail to be electrified again, and he didn’t want to be standing in the stream and touching it when it resumed. When the signal lights blinked, Manhar started to sweat.

Nolan worked as feverishly as he did. They both wore rubber gloves and scooped out the gelatinous substance with their fingers. Then they smeared it on the rail. The worst part of the job was moving into the tunnel. Every so often Manhar would hear a splash as a rat jumped in the water and all manner of dead bugs and bits of garbage floated by. Plunging his hand into the water was also disgusting. Once he pulled out some twisted mass of hair and blackened grease on his fingers. He shook his hand, but it clung stubbornly to the rubber glove. Nolan made a surprised sound as a small rat jumped up onto the third rail and hustled away, running along the narrow metal track with precision.

Manhar kept smearing the gel and trying to work a plan that would get him as far away from New York as soon as possible. Dattar hovered at the platform, watching. Manhar had long figured out that Nolan had stolen some money from the man and that he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight until he retrieved it. They finished and kicked through the stream to the platform and scrambled back up. As they did the water near the third rail shivered.

“Electricity’s back on,” Rajiid said. He consulted his watch.

Khalil came into view. “Three of your men just dropped dead.”

Rajiid shrugged. “The suicide pills are kicking in. They’re time release.”

“Will they all die at once?”

“No. It’ll be staggered,” Rajiid said.

Manhar felt a chill. All this time they thought he would die with the others. He’d lied for them, killed for them, and now they wanted him to die for them. Well, he wouldn’t. He’d never signed on for a suicide mission. He was a soldier, not an idealist. Let the other young men with fire in their eyes and nationalist fever in their blood die for a cause. He didn’t die for freedom. He killed for money. He would take matters into his own hands.

Rajiid glanced at his watch.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dattar said. “I don’t want to stay while those bacteria grow. The helicopter waiting?”

Rajiid nodded. “And the plane at the airport.”

Dattar looked at Nolan. “Upstairs. We’ll transfer the funds.” Nolan limped toward Dattar. Manhar thought that she had little fight left in her. He knew that once Dattar cut off her hands, she’d die from the blood loss. It’s what happened when the vessels weren’t immediately cauterized. He’d seen it in Africa. But she wasn’t his problem. His problem was getting as far away from them all as possible. Rajiid closed the cooler and shoved it in a corner behind a trash bin. Dattar, Khalil, and Manhar started toward the exit.

44

Klein stepped into the situation room where the president and a secret service agent waited. A large conference table dominated the rectangular area, and flat-screen televisions, turned off at the moment, lined the walls. The president nodded and the agent left, closing the door behind him.

“Tell me your urgent news,” Castilla said.

“I think we’ve figured out why the terrorists stole the bacteria.” He laid out Smith’s theory and told him about the subway malfunction.