Dark Zone

71

Mussa backed the truck to the loading dock and checked his watch. He had arrived ten minutes late.

Not enough to be fatal, fortunately, but things were now very tight. The rolling chests must be placed aboard the train before passengers were boarded; there were only a few minutes to do so.

He took a breath, then pulled open the driver’s side door and slid out of the truck. There was a security guard a few paces away; the man returned Mussa’s nod, then turned his gaze elsewhere. Mussa had taken the precaution of showing up here a few times over the course of the last several weeks, not just to understand the layout and procedures but also to make his face somewhat more familiar and thus part of the background.

He moved slowly toward the rear of the truck. As he did, he saw one of his men approaching.

Ahmed, very good.

Mussa unlocked the door and opened the rear compartment. The six large wheeled chests just barely fit in the back of the truck.

“A problem,” said Ahmed, speaking in Arabic.

Mussa shot him a ferocious look — anything but French here would be immediately suspect.

Ahmed blinked, but when he spoke again, he still used Arabic. “Arno did not show up. Bomani and Heru are also gone.”

Mussa tried to take this information in stride, but it was impossible. Arno’s disappearance was especially troubling, as he was the only one besides himself who knew exactly how the chests were to be put together.

Could he do it by himself?

He glanced to the left, toward the policeman. A security official had joined him; they were speaking quietly.

Trouble?

If Arno wasn’t here, where was he? With the authorities? Impossible.

Fate was testing him. He had to move ahead.

“The others?” he asked.

“They have places in coach ten. Their weapons are hidden. Yours as well. Your ticket is ready?”

Mussa nodded.

If Amo did not show up, would the train be delayed? It normally carried only a four-man crew, including the head conductor, or “chief of the train.” Mussa had already arranged for one of the crew members to get sick at the last moment, limiting the crew to three and making the train easier to take over.

They wouldn’t replace one person, but they undoubtedly would find another steward if two were absent. Mussa would have to take Arno’s place. Fortunately, they were about the same size.

But the casks were heavy and difficult to manage for two people until they were on their rollers. Even then.

Once they were in the train, it wouldn’t matter.

The operation had been designed from the start with seven men in mind. Now there would be only four.

Muhammad and Kelvin would subdue the passengers and the policemen, if they were unlucky enough to be in their half of the train when it decoupled. Allah would provide, after all.

Mussa glanced at his watch. He had five minutes to get the chests aboard. As he looked up, he saw a small wedge of wood a few feet away. It looked as if it would just fit at the back of the truck, providing a ramp to ease the casks down.

“Get that piece of wood, quickly. Then find me Arno’s work clothes. No, get that piece of wood first!” Mussa yelled as Ahmed reached to pull the first chest from the van. “They are heavier than they seem.”