Biowar

11

Lia watched Dean on the handheld as he went through the store, following the video that was being fed from the bookstore’s security system. The view switched to one of the video flies she had planted as he started outside; she moved across the street and retrieved it, a good three-quarters of a block back when he was approached.

“They told him to go to the Tube,” said Rockman.

“Can’t even spring for a taxi?”

Lia turned the comer and saw Dean and the thug just going down the steps. Another man was following them, obviously a backup.

“They showed a gun,” said Rockman.

“Why?” Lia asked.

“Not clear at the moment.”

“Let’s play along,” said a new voice on the line. It was Rubens.

“Why are they flashing guns if it’s a voluntary meeting?” asked Lia.

“Dean can take care of himself,” said Rubens. “That’s why he’s there.”

“I’m not worried,” lied Lia. “I’m just wondering what they’re up to.”

“So are we.”

“We’re going to lose him down in the subway,” warned Rockman. “Can you get closer?”

“Yeah.”

Lia squeezed past the tourists, moving quickly but not running, for fear of drawing the attention of a second trailer or the bobby who was standing on the other side of the turnstiles. Lia fished for a ticket as she approached the stiles; she had to step aside to look in her purse for it.

“We’re going to lose him,” said Rockman. “Jump the stile.”

“Yeah, right, asshole,” she said, finally retrieving the ticket.

Dean’s instincts prodded him to make a play for the gun as he reached the bottom of the escalator. He decided that would jeopardize the mission, telegraphing to the people who had made contact that he wasn’t the meek scientific type. So instead he walked calmly ahead, turning to the left and passing a white-tiled wall that opened to the tracks.

Keys wasn’t a meek scientific type. Granted, he was fifty now and hadn’t had the benefit of twenty years in the Corps to keep his body in tune, but he could still probably take Dean two out of three in a game of hoops.

So would his assistant be a wimp?

There were about a half-dozen people on the platform. As Dean stopped near them he realized he was still wearing his sunglasses. He took them off and replaced them with the clear set he had in his pocket.

“Our train coming soon?” asked Dean.

The man who had met him on the street ignored the question. Another man walked up near him; obviously they were a team.

Dean rocked his shoulders gently as he waited for the train to appear. His body was still on Washington, D.C., time — it felt cranky, like it ought to be turning over in bed somewhere.

Next to Lia would be nice. He spotted her walking past an archway in the hall that ran between the lines. Dean stared at the space as she passed, pretending not to notice.

A train rumbled in on the opposite platform. The goon who had shown Dean his gun poked him in that direction but then reversed course as another train came in on their line.

“Where?” Charlie asked.

“Here,” said the man, finally sliding into the train.

Lia waited — the men with Dean seemed unsure of which direction to take. Finally, they got on the line headed toward Leicester Square. She pushed in, elbowing a pensioner aside as the doors closed, then opened again. She saw Charlie and the two men at the next door. The man on the right of him moved backward — they were getting off. Lia tried to follow but found her way blocked by the old man she’d pushed aside, as well as a pair of women with a baby carriage. She threw her hand forward to grab the door, but it was too late; she pounded the door so hard and cursed so loudly that despite the roar of the train as it left the station, everyone in the car turned and stared at her.

“What, you never missed your stop before?” she barked, and they all looked away.