Rules of Betrayal

79

It was her insurance.

She was done. She could not go on living life with one eye trained over her shoulder. She would never work again. Not for the Americans. Not for the Russians. Not for Division or the FSB. Not for anyone. She was finished. But still, she knew they would never stop looking for her.

Emma put a hand on her stomach. Recently the baby had begun to kick. It was a girl. She was sure. One task remained and she would be free. The bomb would keep the jackals at bay so that she could be a mother. They could never risk coming after her if she possessed such a deterrent.

Emma Ransom crossed the tracks and took up position near a wall that led to the special platform. The underground gallery was endless, with track after track receding into an eternal dusk. A steady mechanical humming filled the air, interrupted by the clumsy, cacophonous arrival or departure of a train. She checked her watch and squinted into the distance, thinking that it was time and that Rashid should have been here by now.

For a week she’d listened in on the prince’s calls to Balfour and Massoud Haq. The process involved copying Balfour’s SIM card, acquiring her own eavesdropping equipment on a day trip to Islamabad, and piggybacking on Balfour’s impressive telecommunications system. She had followed the planning step by step, and so she knew that Rashid had picked up Sultan Haq in Germany and was headed this morning to Grand Central Station. She also knew that he had decided to offer his own life to further his goals, not for the glorification of Islam and the punishment of the West but for the elevation of himself as Godhead. Rashid wished nothing less than to take the place of the Prophet.

The track beneath her feet began to tremble. Craning her head, she made out the headlight of an approaching locomotive. She drew her pistol and checked that a round was chambered. She pulled her gloves tight and lowered the balaclava so it fit snugly about her face and did not crowd her eyes. Then she cracked her neck and drew a breath.

The train drew nearer, its brakes squealing as it slowed. The locomotive passed, then the passenger cars. The lights were illuminated and she saw Rashid and Haq, and two bodyguards standing at the door.

Emma ran behind the last car, grabbed hold of the railing with her free hand, and hauled herself onto the narrow observation terrace. The door handle turned easily and she threw open the door, raised the pistol, and fired twice, hitting the bodyguards in the chest, her arm already swinging the weapon toward Rashid as she advanced into the cabin. A hand chopped her arm and she fired early. Rashid spun from his chair, blood streaming from the graze at his temple.

It was Haq. He struck again, knocking the pistol loose and sending it to the floor.

The train braked hard, coming to a halt, and Emma allowed herself to go with it, moving away from Haq, bringing up her right leg to strike him in the chest. The blow landed squarely but did not faze him. Haq threw himself at her and she kicked again, deflecting him, following the kick with a closed fist to the head. Haq shuddered, then lashed out, a lightning-fast punch that connected with her jaw. Emma fell to the ground, her head spinning, blood filling her mouth. Throwing out her leg, she caught Haq’s ankle and sent him tumbling against the window. Glass shattered. But the blow only angered him. He stood and took up position, face-to-face. Emboldened by his size advantage, he came straight at her. Emma kicked and he deflected it. She punched and punched again, the first blocked, the second landing on his cheek, stunning him. Then he had her in his arms. Massive, crushing arms. With a grunt, he hurled her across the cabin. She landed on her back on a low table, shattering the china beneath her. Her head struck the corner of the hard surface, and the world dissolved into a blizzard of white noise.

Slowly her vision returned. She sat up. Rashid lay near her, bleeding profusely, his eyes blinking, offering no fight. She heard a door slam and looked up sharply.

The back door of the car flapped on its hinges.

Haq was gone.

And so was the black leather bag.

Emma looked at Rashid. “I haven’t forgotten what you did,” she said. And then she climbed to her feet and left the car.