The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Twelve

“Dr. Gould?”

Nina jumped. Had her pursuer caught up with her? She glanced round. A plump, pretty woman with blonde curls had taken the seat next to hers and was smiling pleasantly at her.

“Nein,” Nina replied curtly. “Tut mir leid.”

The woman seemed neither surprised nor confused. “Wie heißen sie dann?”

“Sabine,” said Nina, thinking that it would be less suspicious to supply her false name than to refuse to answer the question. “Warum?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the woman said, “but may we speak in English? My German is not what it once was, and I am certain to confuse you if I lapse into Flemish by accident. I believe you know a friend of mine — Matteus?”

Remembering her instructions, Nina nodded.

“Ah, how wonderful!” the woman cried. “I hope you will not mind the imposition, but Matteus told me that you would be travelling this way and suggested that I go with you. We are going the same way, I believe, and dear Matteus knows how nervous I get about travelling alone, ever since the death of my fiancé.”

“Of course.” Nina allowed the blonde woman, who gave her name as Axelle, to squeeze her hand and exclaim over how glad she was to have company, since a woman travelling alone never knew the dangers she might encounter and no-one would be likely to cause problems for two women travelling together. Nina understood the subtext well enough — if the Black Sun was looking out for Nina, they were either looking for her alone or accompanied by Sam, Purdue or both. They were not searching for two women.

“But where are your bags?” Axelle cried, observing the empty space under Nina’s seat and the vacant luggage rack above her. “Don’t tell me they were lost at the airport! Baggage handlers can be so clumsy, don’t you think? How fortunate that you had your tickets on your person! Though I think this is yours — did you drop this? A strange sort of luck you are having today!” She reached down and plucked a ticket off the floor. Nina was certain it had not been there before, but she took it and examined it. It was a ticket for Milan’s airport shuttle. “Yes, yes that’s mine,” she said. Axelle offered no further information about their eventual destination, just a beaming smile, an unstoppable flow of chatter, and a much-appreciated open wallet when the refreshment trolley arrived.

“Boarding passes!” Axelle trilled, fishing the papers out of her handbag and thrusting one into Nina’s hand. Now that they were no longer aboard the train, surrounded by a different set of strangers, there was no longer any need to pretend that they had just met for the first time. Nina understood the gear shift. They were now acquaintances, perhaps even friends, travelling together. She glanced down at the boarding pass, eager to know their destination.

‘Brussels,’ she thought. ‘Is that where we’re hiding out next? I wonder where we go from there. I wonder why Brussels.’

“You know, Sabine,” Axelle mused as they queued to get through security, “the more I look at that hair color, the less I am convinced it suits you. Is it not time for a change, my dear?”

Suddenly self-conscious, Nina ran her fingers through her hair. She had never liked the new color, chosen at random for the sake of a quick change of appearance. “You may be right,” she said. “I suppose I ought to book myself an appointment at the hairdressers as soon as we get home. You’ll have to advise me on what color I should try next. Red, perhaps? I think it might suit me…”

As she chattered, Nina glanced around as casually as she could, noting the other travelers around them. Near-interchangeable men in suits, differentiated only by the colors of their ties, women in designer coats, identifiable by their handbags and hairstyles, tourists distinguishing themselves from one another by the colors of their souvenir sweaters. She tried to memorize them, every single one, and to be alert to any of them paying particular attention to her. The plane would not board for another half hour. Plenty of time for things to go wrong. Best to stay vigilant. Best to be aware of who got on the plane along with them — and who got off and went in the same direction.