Red Notice

44

Laszlo was a couple of coaches ahead of him, working his way towards the front of the train, when an Englishman in a pinstriped business suit caught sight of his Eurostar uniform and stood up, blocking the aisle.

‘Why have we stopped?’ he demanded. ‘Why has there been no announcement? Don’t you people know anything about customer care?’

‘An announcement will be made shortly.’ Laszlo’s smile was as polished as any Eurostar smile-trained employee’s. But his eyes betrayed the fact that he couldn’t care less. ‘Meanwhile, please remain in your seat.’

He tried to move past the irate passenger but the man grabbed his arm and held him back. ‘This is simply not good enough,’ he said. ‘I have an important business meeting. I deserve an explanation.’

‘Then I shall give you one.’

Laszlo drove his knee into the immaculately tailored groin. As the passenger doubled up, Laszlo grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed his nose on the edge of the table. When he released his grip, the man sank to his knees, his face a mask of blood.

‘Thank you for choosing to travel with Eurostar today,’ Laszlo muttered.

The shouts and screams of the other passengers pursued him as he moved on along the train.

Tom heard the screams ahead of him and, abandoning caution, began to run through the carriages. A dazed businessman, blood pouring from his nose, was being helped to his feet by another passenger.

‘An attendant… assaulted me.’ The pinstriped suit was as blood-stained and rumpled as its owner, who was now radiating more embarrassment than pain. ‘He hasn’t heard the last of this. I’ll make sure he never—’

‘Tall guy, with a beard?’

He nodded, spilling a fresh gobbet of blood-stained mucus on his lapel.

Tom checked the toilet signs at both ends of the carriage. ‘Where did he go?’

‘I don’t know…’ the injured passenger said, from behind his hands. ‘I was on the fucking floor. I’d just been assaulted!’

Tom turned to the other passengers. ‘Where did he go?’

A group of four lads-on-the-piss sat at a table piled high with Stella cans, not bothering to hide the fact that they’d quite enjoyed the show. The logo on their sweatshirts told him they worked for London Underground and their expressions made it clear that they knew how it felt to be accosted, abused, poked in the chest and treated like dirt in the course of a working day.

The only one without a baseball cap pointed towards the front of the train and Tom took off at a run.