The Devil_s Workshop

Chapter 53

They were on the Norfolk Southern track from Frederick, Maryland, heading southeast toward Baltimore on a unit train, which was only thirty cars long and making good time. Cris and Stacy were in a sleeper car buried in the middle of the train. They had heard about the huge derailment in the Appalachian Mountains, which had killed the engineer and the fireman, and injured several others. Talk of the wreck had spread down the rails like a burning trail of gas.

"You're worried about that derailment, aren't you?" Stacy said.

"Yeah. Something tells me it's Kincaid."

"Why? Why would he do it? Why derail a manifest train full of pipe and agriculture products?"

"To block the Appalachian Pass, maybe. I've gotta get my hands on a track map."

"Why?"

"He says he's gonna attack the Great Satan. Who's the Great Satan?"

"I don't know. I guess it's anything that Kincaid thinks is evil."

"F. T. R. A. S are a lot like survivalists. Kincaid is an ex-'Nam vet who got shut out by the system after the war, so who's the Great Satan?"

"Saddam Hussein says it's America."

"And that's Washington, D. C."

"So that's why you wanted to get on this train, heading east?"

"Believe me, this isn't over." And the ominous tone in his voice convinced Stacy he was right. Cris looked at her. "There's a Yard-master station in Alexandria, just on the Maryland-Virginia border. I've never been through there, but I've heard it's a friendly yard. We look pretty clean-maybe I can get the Yardmaster there to let me take a look at the track map."

"Will he show it to you?"

"Maybe… if you smile at him and bat your eyelashes."

"That's a politically incorrect idea," she said mischievously.

"You wanna help, or you wanna march in a parade?" He grinned at her.

They moved into the switching area in Alexandria, skirting the edge of the yard to keep out of sight of the patrolling cinder bulls. Finally, Cris led her up to the Yardmaster's office. It was in a two-story brick building, with a tower on the far end that went up an additional story.

Cris knocked on the wooden door. A twenty-something, dark-haired girl, with a trim figure in tight jeans, opened the door. She had a wide, engaging smile.

"Hi," she said brightly.

"Hi," Cris replied. "I'm looking for the Yardmaster."

"You're looking at her," the girl said. On closer examination, Cris could see the collection of smile lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. He revised his age estimate; she appeared to be in her early thirties. She smiled at Cris, who quickly smiled back.

"I'm working on an insurance claim for some missing truck air bags and radios," he said. "We lost 'em out of a hundred-unit shipment that was delivered to D. C. Motors about ten days ago; half the stereo components and almost all the air bags had been ripped out. We think F. T. R. A. S did it. I was wondering if I could take a look at a map of the local system. I'm trying to get an idea which way they went."

"You got a card?" she asked.

Cris dug into his wallet and pulled one out, handing it to her.

"You're A1 Kleggman," she said. "Insurance Underwriter."

"In the flesh."

"You don't look like an A1 Kleggman," she said with a smile.

Stacy could see that the girl found Cris attractive. She felt a flash of jealousy, which surprised her with its intensity.

Cris let out some more line. "I could call my office and get the map from them, but we were here and I thought it would just be easier and quicker to…"

"You know your office number?" she said, holding the business card like a winning poker hand, peeking over the edge at him.

"This is a test?" he smiled.

"If you wanna look at my system map it is," she answered.

"My office is 555-7890," he recited. "You want my fax and e-mail?"

She handed the card back. "Come on in, Al. I'm Sylvia." Then, looking at Stacy, she added, "Who's this?"

"I'm Lenore Kleggman," Stacy smiled sweetly. "We were going out for lunch and a nooner."

Sylvia looked at them speculatively, then turned and led them into a small, cluttered office with several radio and phone hookups, which kept the Yardmaster in touch with the trains on her section of track.

"You hear about the derailment up in the mountains?" Cris asked her.

"Kinda hard not t'hear about it. Got the whole system futzed," she said, as she led him to the map.

"Who do you think did it?"

"Damn F. T. R. A. S. Leastways, that's what the dispatcher's train delay report says." She pointed to a boxed section of the wall map. "This is us, here."

Cris studied the map, memorized the track configurations, and finally nodded. "Okay, that helps a lot. Thanks for everything," he said, and turned to Stacy. "Okay, dear, time to tie on the feed-bag and find a motel."

"Such a romantic," Stacy smiled, as they headed to the office door.

"By the way," Sylvia said, "you aren't fooling anyone."

Cris turned and faced her.

"You two aren't married, you're having an affair."

Cris smiled as he and Stacy stepped out the door of the office and began moving across the pavement.

Sylvia's eyes were burning holes in their backs.

"That was cute," Stacy said, "with the little card."

"A nooner?"

"She was about to jump on you and rape you. I had to do something."

He grinned. They turned the corner and were out of Sylvia's sight.

"Who the hell is Al Kleggman?" she asked.

"I don't remember. Probably some insurance guy I met back when Kennidi was sick. I had the card in my wallet, so I memorized the number as we were walking up there."

They arrived at a public park. Cris sat at a wooden picnic table and took a sheet of paper out of his wallet. "You got a pen or pencil?" he asked.

"Lipstick." She got it out of her backpack and offered it to him.

He took it and began to draw a map on the back of the piece of paper. "Okay, here's the CSXT Appalachian rail line

Here's the main pass heading through the Appalachian Mountains; any train going south from New York or Philadelphia or Baltimore has to go on that CSXT line. Unless you detour back up into New Jersey or Pennsylvania, which adds hundreds of miles, this track through the Appalachian Pass is the quickest shot south."

"What're you getting at?"

"If Kincaid threw the switch and bounced that manifest train off the tracks up in the mountains, then he had to have a good reason, and it wasn't to steal some apples off an agriculture car."

"Then what was it?"

"I've been wondering where the White Train that left Fort Detrick was headed," Cris said. "When I was in the Rangers, I heard that a lot of the nuclear waste was pumped out in Texas. If it's going south, and the Appalachian Pass was blocked, then the only other way to get there is on this Northeast Corridor track here." He added that track to his drawing and labeled it "NEC." Then he put the tip of the lipstick on a place on the NEC track, making an X.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Washington, D. C. The route the White Train will most likely take now is through the capital. It's the only other good way to get south." Then he handed the lipstick back to her and they stood in the sunshine looking at Cris's map.

"But the White Train has soldiers aboard. Ten armed Marines," she finally said, "and two Blackhawk helicopters to fly over it."

"They're Bell Jet Rangers, but you're right, it's heavily guarded."

"Could he do that? Could he figure a way to hijack or derail the White Train in D. C., and let all that toxic stuff loose? It would be suicide."

"Kincaid is a fanatic," Cris said. "Some fanatics live so they can die."

They stood over Cris's map for a long, thoughtful moment.

"We've got to stop him," she said.