by Randall Wood
He paused at the entrance to the first car as the train lurched and began a slight uphill climb out of Union Station. A few seconds later, the lights of Washington DC could be seen around them. The snow was still falling, but not nearly as heavy as earlier. His gaze fell on his own reflection in the windows. Even with the glasses and facial hair, he still looked like himself, albeit a paler, sickly version. At least Jack knew him. What were his current options? He was committed to this escape plan now. There were no options until the next stop. Jack’s radio and helicopters were faster than he could possibly run.
“Are you all right, young fella?”
Sam looked down at the bench he was standing over. He hadn’t noticed them when he had entered, but he now found himself looking down at an elderly couple seated before him. The man’s suit coat was a little rumpled and the shoes were worn. He gazed at Sam over a set of trifocals perched on the tip of his nose. A hat lay in his lap where he held his wife’s hand. Sam shifted his gaze to her to see a rosy cheeked face holding a friendly smile. A cane was grasped in her other hand, and she was bundled up against the cold much like her husband. Sam caught the smudge of ink on her wrist, partially hidden by a watch. A crude tattoo, just a number. Sam knew what it meant. There were very few of them left.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied.
“You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, son. Can I be of any help?” the old man offered. Sam felt a sense of gratitude. Here was a couple who had endured so much, yet here they were on a train, talking to a complete stranger, and offering aid.
“How do you know when something is over? When the time is right to end it?” Sam asked.
The woman looked at Sam for a long moment before replying. “It’s over when you decide, young man. No one can decide for you. You, yourself, have to make the decision to go on.”
The old man nodded and added, “If you are unsure of what you are doing, or if you are going to be successful, see it through to the end. I have found that is usually something worth doing.”
Sam thought about this. They couldn’t know his situation, yet the wisdom of the words couldn’t be denied.
“If it must come to an end, make sure everyone has closure,” he added.
Sam nodded. He turned his head to look behind him and saw some activity. People were all standing on the car behind him and moving toward the rear of the train. He turned back to the old couple.
“Thank you both, very much.”
He turned and stared out the window over the driver’s shoulder at the front of the car. Sam had made a decision. A new plan was now forming in his mind.
* * *
Jack stood in the corner of the car, scanning forward as the people filed past. His initial order had gotten only questioning stares on the first car. He had been forced to repeat himself louder. This got a few people moving. After drawing the Browning and holding it at high guard, the message finally got across. People were scrambling to comply now. As soon as Jack was sure Sam was not among them, he proceeded to the next car and repeated the process. When he reached the car Sam had been on, he paused at the door and peered through the glass. A careful scan revealed no sign of Sam. He checked his pocket for the pictures. He quickly found the face with the glasses. With it in his free hand, he struggled with the door until he entered the car. He was met with a few startled looks and several stares. He put a finger to his lips for silence.
“I’m with the FBI. I’m looking for this man. He was on this car a short time ago. Have you seen him?” He held the picture out at arm’s length and panned it around.
A young black man in a business suit was standing with his hand on the overhead rail. He slowly held out a hand for the picture. Jack let him take it.
“Yeah, I saw him on the ramp. I believe he went forward as soon as we all got on.”
“Thank you.” Jack pocketed the picture and raised his voice. “I need everyone to go to the rear of the train. Get as far back as you can and stay there. Now,” he added.
Everyone moved at once as if the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign. Luggage was pulled from under seats and coats were put back on. One young man had to be roused from his sleep, and a young girl was detached from her iPod. Both got the message after seeing Jack. As the last one passed, Jack moved to the front of the car and prepared to repeat the process for the third time. He tried in vain to see through the scratched and graffitied window into the number two car.
“No choice, Jack,” he muttered to himself.
He took a deep breath and pulled the door open.
* * *
“Sydney, will you stop the pacing, please? You’re making me tired just watching you.”
“I’m sorry, Larry, it just helps, ya know,” she replied as she wiped her sweaty palms on her pants again. “Why doesn’t he call? How can we help him if he doesn’t at least check in? I swear I’m gonna kill him when I see him.”
As if it were listening, the phone in front of Larry rang. He grinned at her before picking it up. The following conversation of yeahs and grunts on Larry’s end did not help her state of frustration any. They all watched as he scribbled a few notes on the notebook he always carried. Larry finally ended it with his usual flippant, “Okay,” and hung it up.
“All right, that was the Union Station security team. They say Jack was with them on the New York shuttle ramp when he just took off after the train as it was leaving. Evidently, he jumped onto the rear platform just in time. Don’t know what he saw, but it must have been our guy. They’re going to make contact with the train and have it stop somewhere that HRT can secure it safely. That’s the plan anyway. I need to see Greg.” He grabbed the notes and turned for the stairs, only to see Agent Whitcomb approaching.
“Do you have contact with Jack?” he asked. “He won’t answer the radio.”
“Not since he was at Union Station,” Sydney replied.
“I got a report that he jumped on a train?”
“Yup. The New York shuttle.” Larry looked at his notes, “Number 409, left about ten minutes ago. I was just coming to tell you. The people at the station are going to make contact with the train and tell it when to stop. They need a location from you. Any ideas where you want that to happen?”
Greg turned to a subordinate and orders spewed forth. “I need contact numbers, make up and description of that train, name of the person driving it, maps of the route and all stops. Get me time to the first one first, and a complete manifest. Go.”
Sydney pointed to two of the office people. “Go help them.” They grabbed their laptops and followed the man-in-black from the room.
Greg looked at the piles of paper on the tables. “Anything new you can tell me?”
“No.” Sydney pouted. “We’ve been through it all a hundred times. Eric has a few files left to crack on the computer, but this is all we have. Not that it will help much if we did. Jack won’t answer the damn phone.” She ran both hands through the tangled mess of hair on her head. “You haven’t heard from him either, huh?”
“No, just a couple of unidentified transmissions on our freq, just static and a few words. Could have been Jack. The radio he’s using is part of the homeland security net. We have a few relays in the station, but they aren’t all installed yet.” He paused and put a finger to the earpiece he was wearing. After listening for a few seconds, he acknowledged the transmission. “Good. Have the bird stay high and out of sound range. Don’t let the occupants see them, copy?” He looked up and saw the waiting faces.
“One of the birds located the train and is trailing it. I need to go upstairs and game-plan the stopping point. I’ll keep you up.”
“Same here,” Larry replied.
They all watched Greg leave, armed to the teeth, but with a finger in his ear again, his boots echoed off the tile.
“Hey, guys?”
The room’s attention turned to Eric. He had never stopped tapping the keyboard. Even through Greg’s short visit.
“You have something, Eric?” Sydney inquired.
“Yeah. A letter.”
“I’ve seen the letter, Eric. I have several copies. We need something new.”
“Not this letter. It’s different”
“Different how?” Larry asked.
“It’s personal. Addressed to Jack, and signed by Sam.”
* * *
“This is GW, Medic 11, go ahead.”
“GW, Medic 11. Currently en route to you priority one with a sixty-year-old male. A and O times zero. Gunshot wound to the left lower chest. This will be from an unknown rifle, through and through. External bleeding is controlled. Patient is intubated at this time and has been decompressed on the left with frank blood. Last pressure of 76 systolic. GCS of 3. He’s starting his second liter of ringers via central. ETA of...” Ron let up on the mic. “Time, Danny?”
“About six!” she yelled into the windshield.
“...about six,” Ron finished.
Ron tossed the mic down on the shelf as the hospital answered, “Good copy 11. Trauma alert. See you in six, Ron.”
Stan smiled at that. “Good to be well known, huh? Must be that deep voice of yours.”
“It’s my high level of testosterone. That was Art on the other end. He’ll have everything ready and still meet us at the door. How’s our guy doing?”
“Still bagging okay. How’s the line, Janice?”
Before replying Janice added a couple of pumps to the infuser. Nothing more than an inflatable bag that surrounded the IV bag, it supplied pressure to the line, making it flow faster than gravity alone would provide.
“Still flowing, 300cc’s in.”
“Okay, as long as we don’t get any more changes, we might just have a chance,” Ron spoke his thoughts out loud.
At that point, the steady beep of the heart monitor fell out of rhythm.
“Damn it.” Ron grabbed for the pouch on the back of the monitor and pulled a large foil envelope from it. He made sure it had red trim before ripping it open and pulling out two large pads with wires attached. He quickly plugged the wires into the monitor and then peeled the backing off the pads themselves. One he applied to the right chest, just under where he had earlier stuck the central line in. The other he placed just above the catheter he had stuck in the left ribs.
“Turn that monitor my way, Janice.”
She quickly complied and Ron saw what he had feared. His patient was showing signs of ventricular fibrillation. The heart rate was fast and erratic.
“Stan, get in my drug box.”
“Epi and Atropine?”
Ron pulled his attention from the monitor. The heart was not doing well. Like everyone else’s, it required a steady supply of blood and a system with no holes in it. The senator was losing blood and the only thing he had to replace it was IV fluids, fluids that did not carry oxygen. The heart was starting to complain, and it was showing on his monitor.
“Yeah, hand them to her. Janice, I’ll take the bag. Listen close, it’s about to get interesting,” he told her.
Stan opened the drawer with one hand as his other kept a tight grip on the overhead rail. He began handing her colored boxes she had only seen before in books.
Without taking his eyes off the monitor Ron began giving instructions. They were simple and easy to follow.
“Grab one of the tan boxes. It says epinephrine and which end to open right on it. Open it up and you’ll find a glass vial and a plastic syringe. It’s capped so you won’t get stuck.” He paused while she extracted the contents. “See the yellow caps on the ends of both pieces? Hold them in your fist with the yellow parts up and flip them off with your thumbs.” The yellow caps popped as they flew across the stretcher and hit Stan in the chest.
“Perfect,” Stan yelped. “Johnny and Roy.”
Ron ignored the inside joke. “The two pieces will screw together now. You see it?”
“Yeah,” Janice replied as she mated the two together. “Now what?”
“See the IV line? It has a Y port in it with a little screw fitting. It’s blue. Pull the yellow cap off the end of the syringe and it will twist onto the blue part. Don’t do it yet, just look.”
“I see it.”
“Okay, be ready to do the same with the other ones. When you push it, you just attach the syringe like I told you, and then you pinch off the line above it. Hold that while you push and then release it when you’re done. Got it?”
“Pinch the line, push the drug, and release the line. I got it. Should I be the one doing this?” she asked.
“We’re both gonna be busy and I don’t have time to teach you the monitor. I won’t let you screw up. I promise,” Ron assured her.
“Ron, look,” Stan prompted. The monitor was beeping again.
Ron saw the end of a run of V-tach followed by an erratic beat. Ron reached out and adjusted the gain. At that point, the beeping increased and a chaotic pattern appeared on the screen.
“V-fib!” Ron announced.
To Janice’s horror, the chief balled up a fist and punched the senator in the chest.
—FORTY-NINE—
The state of Wisconsin holds 22,614 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 15,151 are repeat offenders.
Jack quickly entered the car and moved to one side. He kept his gun low and to his side but the body armor and jacket still drew the attention of those on the car. The blast of cold air also distracted a few travelers from their reading and laptop computers. Jack just nodded at them as he scanned faces. He was about to make his announcement when he caught a face at the front of the car looking back. The man slowly removed his glasses. It was Sam. They stared at each other for a long moment. Jack cocked his head in a silent question.
Please, Sam?
Sam frowned and shook his head—No.
Jack watched as Sam disappeared from his view by sitting on the bench seat close to the door. Beyond it, he could see the train operator through heavy glass. He raised the pistol and adopted a two-hand grip.
“FBI! I need everyone off this car now. Leave your things and move to the back of the train. Do it now!” Jack stepped up onto a chair in an attempt to see over the people all standing and exiting. He still couldn’t see Sam. An elderly man stood and seemed to be talking to him. A wall of thin sheet metal blocked his view. He could shoot through it if he had to, but he didn’t know if Sam was alone on the other side. He had no choice but to wait.
* * *
Sam sat calmly as the elderly couple stood. He offered an arm to aid her.
“Aren’t you coming, young man?”
“He’s here for me, ma’am. Please do what he says. Everything will be all right.”
“Are you sure, son? There are better ways,” the old man offered.
“It’s okay, sir. It’s time for this to end. That man, he’s a friend.”
The old man turned and calmly sized up the FBI agent. He took his time and studied Jack’s face. He had no fear of being between them, Sam saw. He had the calm of a man who had accepted death a long time ago.
“A good friend?” he asked.
“The best,” Sam replied.
“Make sure you help him, too.” The woman shook a finger.
“Yes ma’am, I will.” Sam grinned.
The couple turned and walked toward the FBI agent, her hand in his. Sam followed what could have been until they were out of sight. He felt a slight pang of jealousy. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the 9mm. He ejected the clip into his hand and contemplated it. Feeling the train lurch as it slowed, he sat and listened as the door to the car opened and closed. He heard the old man say something he couldn’t make out. Placing his hand in the coat pocket with the clip, he began thumbing the rounds out. Stopping when it was empty, he then replaced it in the Browning. Thumbing the slide back, he ensured there was still one round in the chamber. He craned his neck around to look out the window. Looked like an industrial area. Smoke stacks and wareh
ouses, lots of space. Good a spot as any.
“Jack?”
“I’m here, Sam.”
“Don’t shoot yet, okay?”
“Okay, but...”
Sam pointed the gun at arm’s length at the glass, paused so Jack could see it, and fired.
* * *
Mary had been running the shuttle for over four years, and was puzzled by the order on her screen to slow down. Nevertheless, she did so immediately. She was not due to stop for some time and slowing would throw her arrival time back, but there was probably someone blocking the tracks. She had quit looking through the rear glass years ago and since the security door was installed after 9-11, had stopped worrying about her passengers entering the cockpit. She was just reaching for the microphone to call and ask why when the blast of the gun filled the car and she was showered in glass fragments. She jumped at the sound, but was held up short by her seatbelt. A deep breath was taken in preparation for a scream, when a voice cut her off. She found herself gripping the controls until her hands were pale.
“Stop the train!” the voice commanded. “Now!”
She obediently yanked back on the throttle and engaged the brakes for an emergency stop. The train lurched forward as the brakes caught and glass rained down from her hair and shoulders. She made herself as tiny as she could in the chair. Her world was suddenly very small. Encased in steel, with her only exit blocked, she had nowhere to go. She turned her head slowly as they came to a stop. She saw a large man alone on the bench seat behind her. He gave her an encouraging nod. She was about to ask him what was happening when she saw the gun in his hand. He put a finger to his lips in an order of silence. She nodded in silent compliance and pulled her head back into the cockpit where the smell of the brakes was making her eyes water. She stared out the front of the train, but saw only empty track. Forcing herself not to panic, she returned her breathing to normal. There was nowhere to go. Her eyes wandered over the controls of the train. She named them in her head to help stay in control of her emotions. Gauges, meters, lights, radio. Radio? She slowly moved her foot and felt for the transmit button on the floor. It was always set to its max volume to be heard over the noise. Convinced they would hear her and hopefully figure it out, she pushed the button and held it down. She didn’t dare speak. The man behind appeared to be talking to someone in the car. She hoped the microphone was sensitive enough to pick up the conversation. There was nothing left to do. The picture of her daughter she kept on the dash caught her attention. She studied the young face as she held down the switch and prayed.
