Dark Zone

83

Donohue could not believe that Mussa was on the train with him — and in the uniform of a train porter. But surely it had been Mussa — he could see the look of recognition in his eyes.

Or was this simply more paranoia?

Donohue bent to the faucet to run some water over his face. He rubbed his eyes and cheeks but kept his fingers away from his mustache.

It had definitely been Mussa.

Was he following him?

Or making his own escape?

Whatever, someone knew where he was or at least the direction he was taking to escape. That was not good.

Donohue’s anger suddenly flared. He tightened his fists, trying to control it, trying to control himself. His plan was a good one — he was safe, surely.

Unless Mussa was following him to order his death.

He stared at the door. He had no weapon but his hands.

He would kill Mussa if he had to. Mussa and whoever he sent. Kill them gladly with his bare hands.

Nearly trembling with his anger, Donohue punched the large square button next to the door to let himself out.