The Controller

by Matt Brolly

  Pulling the cell phone from the charger he considered calling Rose. He wanted to tell her where he was going but the Controller had warned against it. He hated being in such a compromising position, but the Controller and the Railroad had been one step ahead of him all this time. The delivery of the photographs had only cemented his thinking. If he told Rose now, he risked never meeting the Controller and blowing his chance of seeing Daniel alive again.

  He left the vehicle and headed towards the station on foot, the instant change in temperature causing him to break out in sweat. The rational side of him began to niggle as he walked through the entrance of the station that was little more than a holding room. As an agent, he would never have counseled someone to do what he was about to. It was potential suicide. Whatever the threat, he would have always insisted on the authorities being involved. He recalled a banker whose daughter had been held for ransom. Lynch had advised the man not to negotiate without the agency’s involvement but the banker had panicked. A day later he dropped over three million dollars at a secure site, only for the body of his daughter to be discovered a week later in the Bayou River.

  So why was he going alone now? Ever since the day he’d disappeared, Daniel had been his obsession. Prior to that, the Railroad had been his obsession; both obsessions had led him to this moment. Between them, they had cost him his son, his wife, his career, and a good amount of his sanity. It made no sense to stop now.

  He’d spent the last day and evening researching Wilberforce Mallard the sixth, on the off chance that the man he’d been speaking to went by that name. His research revealed nothing he didn’t already know. The information was suspiciously thin and he wished now that he’d confronted the Controller with the name when he’d spoken to him.

  The station was a disappointment. As a child he’d loved such places. Railway stations, airports, even the dowdy bus depot of his hometown had been like doorways, portals to other worlds beyond his understanding. Such romanticism had faded over the years, and run down station had lost its appeal.

  ‘I have a ticket to collect,’ said Lynch, to the cashier at the collection section.

  ‘Name?’ said the rotund woman, sitting behind a glass partition as if she was on display.

  ‘Lynch.’

  The woman’s eyes ran up and down his body, her face devoid of warmth, as if she knew something he didn’t. ‘ID?’

  Lynch sighed and placed a credit card through the small opening.

  The woman took the card, flared her nostrils, and punched something into her system. ‘First class return to St Louis?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Lynch, pleased the ticket wasn’t one-way.

  His response elicited a frown from the woman who paused before printing the tickets. ‘Enjoy your trip, sir,’ she said, handing the tickets and his card back, without a trace of a smile.

  ‘Thank you ever so much,’ said Lynch, breaking into an exaggerated smile ignored by the cashier. ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me who purchased these tickets on my behalf?’

  The cashier stared at him as if he was insane. Lynch walked away without discussing the matter further.

  With forty-five minutes to kill before boarding, Lynch found a coffee shop and ordered a black coffee and a breakfast croissant. He checked through his belongings, using a spare socket to charge the burner phone that was now his only communication to the outside world. Again he considered his options. Experience told him the Railroad was capable of anything, and that being in public on a train wouldn’t keep him safe. He knew that the correct move would be to get Rose involved, but once more he dismissed that sensible option. However much he wished it wasn’t true, he had to concede that the Controller and the Railroad were in charge, and always had been.

  He washed down the dry food with the last of the coffee and made his way to the platform. The Texan Eagle looked little different from any other Amtrak train Lynch had encountered, its carriages a mixture of dirty metal and blue paint. The Controller had treated him to his own compartment and a smiling stewardess, the antithesis to the cashier, checked his ticket and guided him to his cabin, which was air-conditioned with a large seat that opened out as a bed. Lynch checked the itinerary on his phone and was dismayed to see that the journey to St Louis lasted thirty hours.

  The train pulled away, the carriage swaying side to side as it picked up speed. The rhythm soothed Lynch and he closed his eyes, waking three hours later as the train pulled into Austin.

  Bored, Lynch left his cabin and wandered through the train, taking a seat in the viewing area halfway down the train, checking the exit points on both sides of the carriage as he went. He was the lone occupant in the carriage and the paranoid side to him suggested this was part of the Controller’s plan. As the train eased away from the platform, he moved taking a seat at the far end of the carriage so he could better view any potential threats.

  Seconds later, the carriage door opened. Lynch was poised, ready to reach for his gun, only to relax as the smiling stewardess walked passed him. Lynch sat back in the chair and tried hard not to fall asleep as the train made its slow, rhythmic way, along the tracks.

  Lynch was glad to see other passengers join his carriage over the next few stops. He assessed every one. The two businessmen who’d already started on their gin and tonics, the lone college student with her grimy rucksack, a married couple dressed in designer clothes, unsmiling as they listened to whatever played through their earphones, and a lone man in denim jeans and black t-shirt.

  The lone man caught Lynch’s attention. The man hadn’t seen him, busying away at his laptop four seats down. Of all his fellow travellers, he appeared the most likely to be the Controller though Lynch doubted he would be so obvious.

  Just after three pm, the train pulled into Dallas. Lynch kept glancing at his fellow passengers. It didn’t help that he didn’t know who he was looking for. The man in the black t-shirt appeared oblivious to his attentions, his eyes never once leaving the glowing screen of his laptop.

  Lynch got to his feet and left the carriage. The smiling stewardess stood by the train door waiting to greet the next batch of passengers.

  ‘May I stretch my legs?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. We’ll only be here for twenty minutes so please don’t go too far,’ she said, the kind smile never once fading from her lips.

  Lynch jumped down, landing hard on the concrete platform. A number of passengers were boarding the train though none were entering the cabins. Lynch scanned the surrounding area. The platform overlooked a car park and he studied the vehicles within but could see nothing amiss.

  ‘Ready to re-board?’ said the stewardess, once the last of the passengers had boarded the train and the doors had been slammed shut by the stationmaster.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lynch. The woman stood aside, the light smell of her perfume drifting towards him as he made his way back to his cabin.

  Lynch checked his cell phone but there had been no messages. He made notes as he waited for some form of contact, recounting each day and event that had unfolded since Special Agent Lennox had rudely awakened him. Was there something he’d overlooked which could unravel the mystery of why he was sitting here alone on a train with no real idea of his destination, or who he was likely to meet once there?

  The stewardess knocked on his door. She beamed a smile turning her head to him as if they were conspirators together in some unknown secret.

  ‘May I get you anything?’ she asked, in her southern drawl.

  Lynch surveyed the drinks on offer, his eyes alighting on a row of beers in the fridge compartment, all the more enticing for their coldness.

  ‘Diet soda,’ he said.

  ‘Glass and ice?’

  ‘No, thank you. And just leave the can, I’ll open it,’ said Lynch, an old paranoia creeping in.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ said the hostess, leaning in a little too close as she placed the drink and a complimentary snack in front of him.

  ‘Let me
know if you need anything else,’ she said, lowering her eyes.

  Lynch sipped at the diet soda as the train rushed by identikit scenery, flat featureless land tinged with green and yellow. He was becoming more and more paranoid that the Controller had duped him. Maybe he’d wanted him out of the way? Maybe it was just another of the Controller’s power plays?

  He returned to the viewing carriage, his fellow travellers oblivious to his scrutiny, and continued walking towards the rear of the train. In standard class, the atmosphere changed. The carriages were nearly at capacity, filled with groups of travellers, families and lone travellers grouped together. The air-conditioning was struggling to cope with the number of bodies and Lynch was coated with a film of sweat as he made his way further down the train. The walls of the standard carriages felt narrower, the ceilings lower, their claustrophobic nature a stark contrast to the viewing carriage back along the train.

  As he approached the end of the train, Lynch noticed it was slowing. He checked out of both sides but couldn’t see anything untoward outside. The last stop they’d made was at Marshall. Texarkana, the next scheduled stop still an hour away. As the train eased to a stop, he walked back first to his cabin and then the panoramic viewing carriage. He caught the eye of black t-shirt man just before two Texas Rangers boarded the train.

  33

  The Rangers entered two carriages further up the train. Lynch took a seat and checked his phone. He lowered himself down so he wouldn’t be easily visible when the Rangers entered his carriage.

  Less than a minute later, the connecting door opened. Lynch caught a glimpse of the Rangers through the gaps in the seats. The light tan uniform, the thick black utility belts containing amongst other items their state-issued firearms. The carriage was hushed and one of the pair cut the silence. ‘All non-US citizens are to move to the back of the train. Bring your passport and necessary visas.’

  Something was amiss. Lynch sensed it in the way the Ranger spoke, as if he’d been reading from a script. Were they here for him? The female backpacker got to her feet and nervously made her way towards the officers. ‘Through there, Ma’am,’ said the second Ranger, pointing towards the next carriage.

  Lynch took out his burner phone and typed in Rose’s number. The backpacker returned a few minutes later, a smile on her face, just as a second train pulled onto the parallel track next to them. The train caught everyone’s attention and when Lynch looked out of his window he understood why. He’d never seen anything like it. The train was only three carriages long. Each carriage was a perfect image of glass and chrome. The black-mirrored exterior curved upwards from the base of the train. It was impossible to see any joins in the exterior of the machine. Even the engine compartment was sleek chrome. Lynch searched for an engine number but the shiny coat was blemish free.

  Alarmed, Lynch typed a message to Rose. He had to share the information about Mallard before it was too late. He sent her a hurried message before snapping open the phone and removing the battery and Sim card which he palmed as the Rangers walked down the carriage.

  There were too many people to do anything. If they were coming for him then he would have to leave. He reached into his wallet and took out the tracking device. Without hesitation he activated it. Using the metal casing, he ripped a hole in the lining of his jeans where he placed the device.

  Seconds later, the taller of the two Rangers stopped by his seat. ‘Mr Lynch,’ he said. ‘Please come with us.’

  Lynch picked up his holdall and got to his feet. The smaller Ranger took the bag from him and instructed him to place his hands behind his back. Lynch could have made a move, but the other Ranger had his gun out and Lynch couldn’t risk a shoot out in such a closed environment. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said, as the Ranger snapped a pair of metal cuffs on his wrists.

  Lynch kept his head high, making eye contact with as many people in the carriage who would match his gaze. The two men who’d apprehended him were either not Rangers or were insiders, corrupted like Balfour. They cuffed him without warning or stating his Miranda rights. They didn’t even ask him who he was, the slimmer of the two men having verified him with a photo on his phone.

  He struggled to keep his feet as they bundled him out of the train onto the desert gravel between the tracks. He dropped the Sim card, and grunted as he missed the last step, his knees struggling to hold his balance. From the windows, he saw the shocked faces of the passengers pressed up against the window like prisoners. He saw the distaste in some of the faces, the presumption that he’d done something wrong. It would make no difference protesting and could lead to a mass slaughter, so he kept his silence as he was led up the steps of the second train.

  Classical music greeted him as he entered the train’s interior. The sound quality was concert perfect and was a fine complement to the interior of the carriage. Lynch had been on-board a few private jets in his time, but none of them could match the opulence of his current surroundings. Everything was decorated to the highest spec, leather armchairs, polished wooden trimmings, a deep patterned carpet.

  ‘Sit,’ said the overweight Ranger.

  Lynch did as instructed, collapsing onto the plush leather of one of the sofas his cuffs digging into the material behind his back. ‘Can you take these off?’ he asked, to silence.

  He glanced out of the window, surprised to see the train was moving, the only sound he could hear the classical music piped through the speakers.

  Although his ego was bruised from being captured, Lynch considered recent developments as positive. The situation was desperate but he was a step closer. The Controller must have arranged his capture. That suggested he would get to see his foe for the first time, and meant he was closer to seeing Daniel again.

  Whilst the thin Ranger kept a close eye on him, his obese partner searched through the contents of his bag. Lynch’s skin went clammy as the man took out Daniel’s sweater, looking at it with distaste before placing it back in the bag. ‘Clear,’ said the man.

  ‘You going to tell me where we’re going?’ said Lynch.

  ‘You’d be better served holding your tongue,’ said the thin Ranger.

  ‘Just making chit chat,’ said Lynch. He’d been watching the two men ever since being dumped in the carriage, searching for patterns, potential weaknesses in their movements. He’d yet to see one. They kept their distance, one of them maintaining eye contact at all times. He played with the cuffs on his wrist but they were secure. Houdini himself would have struggled to break such binds. He’d yet to be stripped-search which was a blessing. His major hope now was that Rose’s tracking device was still working. It seemed to be an oversight on the part of the Controller but in Lynch’s experience such minor things were often the undoing of such people.

  The two Rangers stood to attention as a side door, one Lynch hadn’t been aware of, slid open. Lynch had been hoping to see the Controller but was neither surprised nor disappointed to see the man who walked through the opening.

  ‘Samuel, how are you?’

  ‘Balfour. How about loosening these cuffs?’

  Balfour grinned and sat on the leather armchair opposite him. ‘Like the pad?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s lovely. Yours or the Organ Grinder’s?’

  Balfour’s left eye twitched, a split second gesture suggesting the comment had bruised him. The former agent linked his fingers together. ‘You realize you no longer exist? You have disappeared and will never reappear.’

  ‘Why don’t you kill me then, Balfour?’

  ‘Believe me, I would love to. Fortunately for you, you have a choice.’

  ‘What choice?’

  ‘There will be time for that, Lynch. I’m not one hundred per cent sure you will enjoy the options but who knows, you may surprise me.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Balfour, but believe me when I say that when I have the choice of killing you or not, I will be taking the former.’

  Balfour’s face changed. It was more than a look of
annoyance. It shifted shape, his eyes narrowing, his mouth constricting. He stood up and moved towards Lynch, thrusting his hands onto his throat so Lynch’s head was pushed back. ‘Listen, you sad little man. If I’d had my way you’d have been eliminated long ago. If you think there’ll ever be a time where you have the chance to do anything to me, you’re sorely mistaken.’

  Lynch wrinkled his nose, trying not to smell the garlic on the man’s breath. He allowed Balfour’s fingers to push into his windpipe without fear. Balfour had shown his weakness by the attack, had confirmed to Lynch that he was not the one in control.

  Balfour withdrew his hand, his face snapping back to a polished façade of civility. ‘Enjoy the rest of the journey,’ he said, disappearing through the hidden door.

  The two fake Rangers kept guard on him as the train progressed. ‘Are you one of them or just the hired help?’ asked Lynch, to be met with silence again.

  Lynch glanced outside the panoramic windows that framed the exterior in perfect clarity. The glass took up most of the side of the train. If he concentrated, the view was so unobstructed that Lynch felt as if he was floating through the desert scenery. The hidden door slid open once more tearing him from the illusion. A statuesque woman entered the carriage carrying a tray of drinks, her clothes wrapped so tightly against her body that they acted as a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. Lynch noticed the hypnotic effect she had on the two Rangers as she moved towards him. ‘Mr Lynch, I hope you’re enjoying the journey,’ said the woman, breathy as if she was doing her best Marilyn Monroe impression.

  ‘I’m having a great time,’ said Lynch.

  The woman smiled. Lynch tried to guess how old she was but couldn’t work it out. Her skin was flawless. As she beamed her perfect smile, there was no sign of any creases. Only her eyes gave her away. They looked straight through him, her pupils dilated. Lynch presumed she was one of Balfour’s prisoners, permanently drugged, forever compliant. ‘Please take a drink,’ said the woman, unscrewing a bottle of mineral water.