Vivian fingered the syringe in her pocket. “Me, too.”
Chapter 42
Dr. Dubois leaned forward in his blue seat, watching the other early-morning passengers in the well-heated train car. The blue seats were full. The car was standing room only this early in the day, but a young man with four piercings in his eyebrow and a nose ring had given up his seat for the doctor when he’d hobbled into the car on his crutches. The doctor had taken the seat as his due.
He shifted his aching leg to the side. After his meeting today, he would allow himself some Percocet to dull the pain, but not before. He was so close now.
The gray winter sun and bare tree trunks passing by outside couldn’t dampen his mood. He looked around the car. People sat reading, playing with their phones or staring out the window, all stuck in their humdrum lives. Today, for him, was a culmination.
He would hand off the serum to put his parasites into a massive trial that would prove he was a visionary. Soldiers would not have to worry about fear as they did their jobs, and they would not have to deal with long-term stress afterward. His work would spare them that.
Saddiq’s call had put him on edge. He studied the relaxed figures around him. None of them spared him a second glance. They all seemed as innocuous as they had before the call. Tesla was not here.
The doctor drummed his fingers on his metal briefcase as the train rattled toward the long low entrance to the tunnel that would take them underground and down to Grand Central Terminal. He pulled the briefcase up further on his lap, keeping it close.
He’d feel better once he’d handed everything off, and the trials were underway. At that point, everyone would have too much to lose to expose him. And the parasite worked. Maybe not perfectly, but every war has casualties, and every drug has side effects. Overall, everyone would be better off.
Especially him.
The train slowed as it headed underground, darkness washing across the outside of the car. Inside, the fluorescent lights shone brightly. Dr. Dubois studied his reflection in the window. Bags under his eyes made him look tired. He should look tired — he hadn’t slept since Subject 523 had shot him. Not real sleep, anyway, just narcotics-induced unconsciousness. But his leg was healing, and once this trial got underway he could relax. There would be plenty of time to sleep then.
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and peered into the darkness that lay beyond. The train slowed still further. Other sets of silver tracks joined with his. They were just slowing for the approach to the platform. The train always did that.
In just a few minutes the train would arrive, probably at Platform 112. He had a long trek up ramps and across treacherously smooth floors before he could get a cab. After that he’d be able to rest again on his way to his meeting.
One long finger stroked the top of the cold briefcase. He had held it tightly the whole trip, as if it might spring from his hands and leap out the window. Or be stolen. Unthinkable, and unlikely.
When he’d left the case unattended in the lab while he’d gone to the toilet, an overzealous postdoc lab assistant had plastered yellow biohazard stickers on both sides, as regulations required. The doctor had been furious, thinking that it might make it more difficult for him to board the train, but none of his fellow passengers had seemed to notice or care. If they had, who among them would have wanted to steal a biological hazard?
A woman with a poison-green scarf leaned her hip against the edge of his seat, a paperback novel open in her hand. She’d barely looked up from its pages since she’d boarded. Next to her, a businessman in a pinstriped suit crackled his Wall Street Journal. The young man with the piercings looked toward the dark windows, swaying in time to music that was piped into his ears via tiny black earbuds. Everything was normal.
He returned his gaze to the window. Nothing — just a wide room with faraway stone walls and lines of steel girders to hold up the ceiling. He’d seen the view a thousand times on his way to the city. Nothing to cause concern.
Then the car stopped.
Dr. Dubois pulled the briefcase closer to his chest. Despite his earlier assurances to himself, his heart fluttered. This felt wrong.
No one else seemed concerned. The woman with the green scarf licked her finger and turned a page in her paperback. The businessman’s eyes kept scanning down his newspaper. The kid with the earbuds didn’t pause in his rhythmic swaying. This kind of thing happened all the time. Probably just a train ahead of them in the station.
A shadow drew his attention outside. There was a man in the tunnel, walking next to the train. He was tall and thin and dressed all in black except for an orange safety vest. Clearly an MTA employee. Perhaps he knew the reason for the delay. Likely a mechanical problem that wouldn’t keep them stuck for long. His meeting must commence on time.
The train worker stopped next to the car ahead of theirs and looked inside for several seconds before moving slowly to the doctor’s car. The man seemed to be examining each seat, glancing quickly from one part of the car to another as if searching.
Anxiety tightened Dubois’s muscles, making his leg throb.
The man stopped directly outside the doctor’s window. He continued his examination until he reached the doctor’s seat. Their eyes met. The man looked at him for a long time before shifting his glance to the next passenger. The doctor squirmed in his seat, eyes darting around the car. There was nowhere to go.
Saddiq’s caution had been justified. Dr. Dubois glanced at his watch. 9:10. The train should have already arrived at the station. Maybe Saddiq had defied him. He would worry when the train didn’t arrive. He would come.
The man in the tunnel smiled.
Dr. Dubois knew what he was looking for now.
The man was looking for him.
Chapter 43
Joe stared up into the lit train window. The smell of metal and electricity surrounded him. Trains shouldered by on other tracks, none concerned with the blue and silver train sitting stock still on its tracks. Trains stopped all the time to wait for a train to clear the station ahead.
But this train’s stop had nothing to do with the schedule. He had caused it by resetting its digital wireless signaler. The signaler gave each train permission to move forward. He estimated that he had about five to seven minutes before the central switching center noticed and reset the signaler again and the train moved forward to Platform 112.
He’d better make it count.
Dr. Dubois was in the second car. He looked just like his photo on his company web site, except more tired. Everyone looked more tired in real life than on the Internet. A silver briefcase with a biohazard sticker on the front rested on his lap. It looked as if he had brought the serum with him after all. Joe needed to get that case.
Joe ran to the side of the train car and pulled himself up in the space between the first and second cars. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered. The car was full, standing room only, and he elbowed his way forward through the passengers.
The doctor was near the far end of the car. When he saw him, the doctor struggled to his feet, fumbling with his crutches. But he had nowhere to go.
Joe reached him and took hold of one of his crutches.
“Help!” Dr. Dubois wobbled on the other crutch.
A guy with a face full of piercings reached for Joe’s arm. “What do you think—”
“Careful, buddy,” Joe said. “I’m just here to save your life.”