The World Beneath

Chapter 43

Joe stared up into the lit train window. The smell of metal and electricity surrounded him. Trains shouldered by on other tracks, none concerned with the blue and silver train sitting stock still on its tracks. Trains stopped all the time to wait for a train to clear the station ahead.

But this train’s stop had nothing to do with the schedule. He had caused it by resetting its digital wireless signaler. The signaler gave each train permission to move forward. He estimated that he had about five to seven minutes before the central switching center noticed and reset the signaler again and the train moved forward to Platform 112.

He’d better make it count.

Dr. Dubois was in the second car. He looked just like his photo on his company web site, except more tired. Everyone looked more tired in real life than on the Internet. A silver briefcase with a biohazard sticker on the front rested on his lap. It looked as if he had brought the serum with him after all. Joe needed to get that case.

Joe ran to the side of the train car and pulled himself up in the space between the first and second cars. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered. The car was full, standing room only, and he elbowed his way forward through the passengers.

The doctor was near the far end of the car. When he saw him, the doctor struggled to his feet, fumbling with his crutches. But he had nowhere to go.

Joe reached him and took hold of one of his crutches.

“Help!” Dr. Dubois wobbled on the other crutch.

A guy with a face full of piercings reached for Joe’s arm. “What do you think—”

“Careful, buddy,” Joe said. “I’m just here to save your life.”

The guy grabbed Joe’s elbow. “How?”

“I’m from the railroad.” Joe pointed at his orange vest. “They sent me down to get this case before it gets into the station.”

The doctor goggled at him.

“Are you Dr. Francis Dubois?” Joe asked.

“I… no,” said the doctor.

“You’re the only one on this train carrying a biohazard,” Joe said, “into a crowded railway station.”

“Nothing’s infectious,” the doctor said. “It’s just tissue samples.”

The doctor wrapped both arms around his briefcase.

Joe could tell that he was lying and, clearly, so could the man with the piercings. He let go of Joe’s elbow.

“I need to get that case off the train,” Joe said. “Please hand it to me.”

“Under no circumstances,” the doctor screeched.

The passengers edged away from them, except for the man with the piercings, who looked ready to pick a side and pile in. Joe hoped that the man would be on his side.

“Whose tissue samples?” Joe asked quietly. “The ones for the hundred and three people whose boat sank just off the coast of Cuba—”

“No.” The doctor regained his dignity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joe held out his hands. “Give me the case. The officers in charge of quarantine can decide what to do about it. You can come with me, if you’d like.”

“Give him the case,” said the guy with the piercings.

A woman wearing a green scarf nodded.

The businessman looked confused, and the people around him began to mumble to each other. No one was sure if Joe was a helper or a threat. He didn’t have time to win anybody over.

“You will regret this,” said the doctor. “You think you can take this case? Hold me here?”

Joe’d had enough. “Of course I can. You know that the contents of that case can infect thousands of people. To keep people safe, I can take it. And I will.”

“Those are brave words from a murderer,” said the doctor. “What newspaper would print your allegations, Mr. Tesla?”

The man with the piercings looked uncertain now. He must have read the New York Post.

Joe didn’t have time to argue. He reached for the case.

The door at the other end of the car slammed open and a thin, dark-haired man stood in the doorway. Joe recognized his silhouette and his walk. Ozan Saddiq.

“Step away from that man,” Saddiq called down the train car. He drew a gun from under his coat and pointed it at Joe.

Panic erupted in the train car. People threw themselves to the floor and tried to crawl under the seats.

Joe kicked out Dr. Dubois’s crutch and grabbed his aluminum case as the man fell. The doctor wouldn’t let go until Joe twisted it in a fast circle and smashed it into his face.

The doctor stared at him, aghast.

“I’m not done with you,” Joe said. “Not by a long shot.”

The doctor brought both hands up to his streaming nose.

“Saddiq!” he called.

A gunshot echoed in the tiny space. Heat seared Joe’s ear. He dropped to the floor, still holding the briefcase, and dove the last few feet to the door at his end of the car. He leaned against it and pulled the door open one-handed. He fell more than jumped forward.

The ground jarred his ankles when he landed.

Joe looked back at the train car. The engineer had left his post at the front of the car to investigate the commotion. He wasn’t far from where Joe had been standing.

Saddiq jumped out of the rear of the car, and Joe ran around toward the front. He needed to keep the train between them as long as possible. The case bounced against his knee. He hoped that it wouldn’t turn the area into a biological waste site if it or something inside it broke.

The train lurched ahead. Joe sprinted forward a few yards, then cut in front of the engine as the train gained momentum. He heard another gunshot.

Pain blasted up his right arm.