Terminal City

FIFTY

“Why is this train here?” I asked. I had showered and was warming up, sitting in a gleaming silver railroad car that was parked next to the track, adjacent to the terminal, where Big Timber had been.

“Consider it like Air Force Two, Coop. The president’s been whistle-stopping on his main machine, which consists of four cars for his entourage and staff. This is the fifth piece, which is actually brought into Manhattan whenever POTUS stays at the Waldorf. It backs up to Roosevelt’s armored car, in case there has to be an emergency evacuation from the city.”

“And tonight?”

“The head of the Secret Service saw Mercer and the guys bringing you down from the roof. Scully told them who you are. They thought you needed some TLC.”

I was dressed in a white robe with the presidential seal on the pocket, part of the guest accoutrements of this elegant private varnish. There was a complete setup of personal items in the lavish bathroom, where I had showered and washed my hair.

A waiter had served me a Dewar’s and offered a sandwich. I curled my feet up beneath me and settled on the sofa next to Mike.

“Is the president going ahead with his plan to ride into Grand Central tomorrow evening?”

“Apparently with more purpose than before. He’ll meet the families of the cops who were killed. The Thatchers and the Tsarlevs, who are being flown in from Russia, too. He’ll make a speech about the need for vigilance on the part of every citizen and express his gratitude for the work of law enforcement and first responders.”

“That’s such a good thing for him to do. Pay respect to those who lost their lives this week and restore confidence in the use of this great terminal.”

“You feeling any better?”

I nodded. “It’s crazy to be so chilled in the middle of this heat spell.”

“It’s your emotional thermostat that’s out of whack. Getting drenched-and frightened near to death-while you were on the run from a maniac just topped it off.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chapman. And who do you think has been fiddling with my thermostat this last month?” I asked. “Please don’t tell me I have to spend another week with Vickee and Mercer till somebody puts the cuffs on Raymond Tanner.”

“Nope. You’re no longer banished to Queens.”

“How’d you take care of that?”

Mike took a slug of his martini and then grinned at me. “I’m taking you home tonight. I’m staying with you until-”

“You’re what?” I was flushed with embarrassment, or perhaps excitement.

“I said I’m-”

“I mean, after all the horrors of this week,” I said, playing with strands of my wet hair, “and the way things have been between us lately, it doesn’t seem the best moment to try to put this together.”

“I need to fix that, Coop. I need to start working on that as soon as possible.”

“But tonight?” I picked up my Scotch, my hand shaking, and tried to move it to my mouth.

“Tonight you’re going to sleep,” Mike said. “End of story. I’m just going to watch over you, kid. Make sure the night terrors stay out of your head.”

The train started to move and I lurched forward. Mike reached out to grab my arm so I didn’t tumble off the sofa.

“Where’s this thing headed?” I asked.

“Put your clothes on. Come out on the observation deck with me while you finish your drink. Then I’m taking you home.”

“But how are we getting home if we’ve left the station?”

“Hey, don’t you know about Freud and railroad trains and tunnels? I need to get you out of this tunnel before I get an irresistible impulse.”

I looked at Mike and laughed. “I’d say ‘take your best shot,’ but I’m way too tired and wobbly to be much of a challenge. And where are we going, anyway?”

“I figure you’ll only get to ride on the presidential train once in a lifetime, right?”

“And the tunnel doesn’t end till we hit 97th Street,” I said. I stood up to take my clothes inside to change. Mike lifted the drink from my hand and rested it on the side table, standing to embrace me.

“Mercer will meet us at 125th Street and drive us to your place. I’ll let you get some rest, I promise. It’s just important for me to be there.”

“I’m going to study up on my Freud,” I said, leaning my head against Mike’s chest. “I kind of like it here in the tunnel with you.”