Dark Zone

74

Lia turned left as she came into the large hallway at the far end of the terminal, walking down along the area of shops and ticket windows. Dean’s description of the man they were following was less than complete — tall, dark hair, wearing jeans and a gray windbreaker.

A pair of smoke-colored globes hung down from the ceiling nearby — surveillance cameras. Lia put her hand to her mouth as if covering her face while yawning. “Rockman, they have a surveillance system. See if you can get in it and look for Dean’s suspect.”

“We’re already working on it, Lia, thank you. All right, we have him: gray windbreaker going into Eurostar. No baseball cap. Upstairs.”

“You sure?”

“Go there. Charlie, look at this download on your PDA and make sure we have it right.”

Lia spun around and threaded her way toward the stairway, which was about midway in the platform. She watched from the escalator as Dean sidled up to one of the large metal posts that held the shed roof up and took out his PDA.

“It’s him,” he said.

“Good,” answered Rockman. “He’s going aboard the Eurostar. A good break for us. I’ll have his ID in a second. Go ahead and get aboard.”

Lia walked toward the ticket window, where a customer was thanking a clerk for getting him a spot on the train.

“Not a problem, monsieur,” said the clerk in French. “A lot of last-minute cancellations. The charge is ninety euros for first class.”

“Ninety euros,” muttered Lia. “I don’t have that much cash. What card should I use?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Rockman. “Your tickets will be in the system. Just show your passport. Real names; it’s OK. Go.”

Dean came up to the Eurostar level as the other customer fished out his wallet to pay.

“Dump your weapons before you go inside,” continued Rockman. “Duck into those restrooms on the right after you get your tickets. There are no garbage cans inside the waiting area.”

“You want us to go to London?” asked Dean. “Why don’t you just have him arrested?”

“Charlie, we don’t have an ID on him yet,” said Rockman. “And to be blunt, the fact that you may have recognized him from England may not impress the French. It’s their call.”

“You’re going to let him get away,” said Dean, as if he were muttering to himself.

“No. Once he’s on the train he can’t go anywhere. The train can be met in England by the police. He won’t be able to carry a weapon onto the train. You’ll see; the security is tight.”

“If you’re going to have someone meet the train, why should we get on?” asked Dean.

“Things are a little fluid right now, Charlie. Stick with the program, OK? If he gets on the train we’ll be able to deal with it pretty easily. Just follow. There’s a lot of stuff going on here.”

“Art Room knows best,” said Lia sarcastically, reaching into the security belt beneath her jeans for her passport.