by John Statton
When she turned back, she saw Sander had caught his breath and was grinning at her. “You know how to show a guy a good time,” he said. “Want to do it again?”
She started forward, turning her head to give him a curt, “Come on.” They walked down the broad stairs ringing the Terminal's spacious central plaza. As they walked, Mariana clued him in on the approaching goons.
“Christ, this is like a bad movie,” he said. They moved quickly but stayed under a run. The clock continued to strike.
Mariana saw the other members of the security team were now near the street exits and had fanned out to circle them. The hunters started to walk down the stairs onto the commuter-covered floor to tighten the noose. She and Sander moved a bit deeper into the crowded plaza.
Sander did not know what protection lay ahead, but he had to assume Mariana had some plan. He could see their pursuers had reached the main floor and were starting to move towards them. He hoped her plan would kick in soon.
As the last clock strike faded, Mariana grabbed Sander's hand and took off at a run for the stairs. Sander could only imagine their pursuit would race to intercept. But he could not spare any energy to turn and see; he focused on keeping up with her.
During the ringing, across the vast hall, people had moved into a synchronized formation. Each carried an umbrella, and as the last note disappeared, three hundred and forty-three performers raised their voices to perform, “I'm singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain.”
The practiced singers moved as one in time to the music, dancing with their umbrellas while belting out the movie favorite. The entertaining flash mob froze the crowd in the Terminal.
The pursuers got tangled in the center of the mob. They could not push forward without drawing too much attention and were forced to stop, along with the others trapped in the middle of the epic number. A glorious, unexpected rendition of the old favorite.
This mob had a repertoire of songs and dances. Its several thousand members had been doing this for years and were a Bay Area favorite. No one officially knew how they organized or where they would show up. However, their numbers and quality kept growing. Mariana knew how to summon them with a text.
All the NetSecure agents could do was watch Mariana and Sander reach the top of the stairs and head down to the train levels. Then, as the song finished, a moment of silence descended. Chaotic life returned to the scene, and the mob quietly dispersed. Its members made their way out into the night. The security team members sprinted to catch up, but were too late.
***
Losing the hunters during the dance and ensuing confusion had been relatively easy. Mariana led Sander downstairs past the commuter train level to the Amtrak loading platform. Ignoring the train's open doors and conductors welcoming passengers aboard, she turned to her left and headed towards a door at the end of the platform.
The metal door was signed “Authorized Personnel Only,” with a keypad lock above the doorknob. Sander noticed Mariana did not even slow as her fingers tapped out an eight-key combination with one hand, while gripping and opening the door with the other. They swiftly entered and she eased the door closed behind them. A short, well-lit corridor led ahead of them, and another door—another keypad lock—but again not a problem for Mariana.
“Come on, we can't afford to wait,” she urged as she hurried through the second door, which opened onto a smaller platform where a railroad switching engine pushed an old-style Vista Dome car up to the rest of the passenger train for connection. With a surprisingly gentle bump, the car coupled to the end of the train. Unseen to Sander were the local crew, connecting hydraulic and power lines.
They were the only ones in the area observing the activity. Beyond further shock, Sander remained calm and unsurprised when Mariana drew out a gun from the medical bag and chambered a round. She walked up to the car's side door, opened a small panel and typed in alarm deactivation sequence. She climbed the steps, opened the door, stepped in, and less than a minute later reappeared and gestured for him to join her. As soon as he did, he heard the door close and lock behind him.
***
In the Terminal’s main plaza, the team leader became resolved to losing the subjects. His people had been stopped by swirling umbrellas and synchronized dancing. With a silent hand motion above his head, he rounded up his well-trained group and they exited to the waiting Suburbans. Before getting in, one of the drivers contemptuously crushed a parking ticket left under the windshield wiper.
Once back in the SUV, the team leader called in their status and recommended they get the stairwell security feeds, ticket purchases, and the passenger list for every train departing since they arrived. He wanted cab video feeds reviewed, and Uber and Lyft records pulled just in case their subjects had doubled back and fled upstairs.
NetSecure Command replied with a return to base order. There was nothing in the Terminal complex that could give them a clue about what happened to Mariana and Sander. The Terminal's security cameras had gone blank, starting at nine, and had not yet come back on. The fugitives had disappeared.
#
Chapter 14
A Private Varnish
July 2016
As Sander entered the railcar he stepped back sixty years, to the days when trains ruled long-distance travel and provided luxurious accommodations. Looking around, he took in the dark, plush Turkish carpet, the gleaming stainless steel and rich mahogany accents, the leather club chairs, and the well-stocked, mirror-backed, onyx-topped bar at one end. The light came from brightly glowing art deco fixtures, not the shade-drawn windows. The contrast between this quiet, clubby interior and the race for life outside the door was extreme, and he sank into one of the welcoming chairs.
Mariana turned to him. “Welcome aboard my rolling fortress of solitude.” Holding her gun pointed down to the side she said. “Want the full tour?”
His eyes glanced to the weapon then looked up at her. “Know how to use that, little lady?” he asked in his John Wayne drawl.
“A lot better than you, partner,” she replied softly, with a bit of a hardened wistfulness in her voice. “Better than you.”
“Why don't you stay here for a minute, will you?” Gun at the ready, she walked down the small hallway leading back into the car for a more thorough search. Within a couple of minutes, she returned, and the engine started its task; the Denver-bound train slowly began to inch forward. Under the skilled engineer's operation, the train smoothly accelerated into the underground tube laid on the Bay's muddy floor, heading first for Oakland on the other side.
With getting safely underway, both Sander and Mariana had visibly relieved looks on their faces.
She spoke first, “You OK, no problem from our encounter with the bad guys? How about your injuries?”
“Stunned to be here, but otherwise almost tip-top.”
“Want the tour or a drink first?”
“Both. Can we start the tour at the bar?”
She slid the gun into a slim holster concealed in the back of her pants under her blouse, and turned to make two Manhattans. After taste testing with a lip smack of satisfaction, she poured the cocktail into two glasses. Handing him one, she gestured with the other to encompass the room.
“I inherited it from my folks. Originally, I wanted to use it for charters, but over the years I've come to appreciate it for a lot of reasons.”
“Aren't you worried they will just run a list of what's attached to the train, pull your name, and have guys with guns meeting us at the next station?”
“No, not really. I own this under a different name, through an anonymous company that is going to be hard to penetrate. I'm pretty good at computer security.” She ducked her head, took a long sip and followed up, “No one’s going to know we’re here or this is mine. We don't show up in any passenger records, this lists as a private repositioning for a commercial charter in Denver, with the reservations made weeks ago. I was a little busy making this happen before I picked you up at the ho
spital.”
“More like when you broke me out,” he countered. “What’s happening? One minute my car is trying to kill me, the next we’re fleeing through a Hollywood dance number, and now I'm here in a luxury railcar.” He finished his cocktail, left it on the bar and followed her deeper into the coach.
“Can we postpone the serious talk until after dinner?” she asked. “I'm starving and want a little food in me before another drink. How about it?”
They traveled along a window-lined hallway, passing two staterooms. Mariana motioned to the first one and said, “This is yours. It has a toilet, shower, and fold-down bed. You can get settled anytime, and will find some clothes in the closet.”
He looked down at the trench coat still covering his hospital gown. “Maybe not. This is kind of a sexy look, don't you think?”
“No, not really,” she deadpanned. Then with a grin, “You may get lucky…but not in that way.” She blushed despite herself. “We've got a small stash of clothes left forgotten from charters; we kept the best and should have things in your size.”
At the other end of the coach lay a well-appointed dining area with short, steep steps up to the observation lounge. Beyond dining was the galley on one side and a sink toilet combination on the other. A locked door at the end of the hallway blocked access to the other cars on the train.
The small kitchen was a surprisingly well-equipped place to cook. “It's a full commercial kitchen,” Mariana said as she stepped in and started opening cupboards. Pulling out eggs and goat cheese from the fridge, and spices from the pantry cupboard, she began to make omelets.
“I’m reconsidering that drink; can you open a bottle of wine?” she asked. “There should be a Sauvignon Blanc back in the bar that’ll go well with these eggs. They’re nothing complicated, just fast and tasty.”
He returned, wearing a set of new clothes, and placed a full glass next to her cutting board, “What's the story with the magically appearing, well-stocked railcar? Can we talk about that at least? And why are you so calm? Aren’t we running for our lives?”
She laughed and brushed her hair back behind one ear, whisking diced onion and sage into the eggs and beating them until creamy. “This was the office, Vista Dome and sleeper car of the president of the Northern Pacific Railway. A land yacht at the time, and decommissioned when the railroad became part of Amtrak in the seventies.”
She continued, “My grandfather loved trains and bought it at auction. He never got a chance to restore it and died soon after buying. I got it after my parents died, not something I ever mentioned. Frankly, I’d almost forgotten.”
Sander said, “But that's not all the story, is it?”
“No, after we split I decided to fulfill my grandfather's vision…and voilà.” With a finger snap for emphasis. “These things are fiendishly expensive to refit and maintain. It may look old, but it has to pass current safety standards. Would you believe it's rated at one hundred and six miles per hour? I don’t think it's in any speeding danger behind Amtrak.” She finished laying out tufts of cheese across one side of the cooking eggs.
He gave her a smile as he took a sip of his wine.
“I lease it through a broker, for a charter business.” She flipped the omelet. “Helps defray my cost, and that's why it's clean and semi-provisioned. I never see the broker, and I never have to interact with any passengers.”
She picked up her wine glass for a sip. “This car has been in seventeen movies or commercials over the years. It's very popular to rent for period pieces, lots of atmosphere.”
He lifted his glass and silently toasted her. He then replied, “I feel the ambience. This place is fantastic.”
She carried on, “Lucky I had it in town between charters. I like to store her in the old Caltrain yard, which is only a few blocks away. That’s how they were able to get it connected so fast.”
She turned off the heat, divided her cooking and plated it. “It's a lot of fun to just ride to different destinations. There’s a whole world of people who relish these old cars and travel around the country with theirs. Most importantly, it's a part of my life no one else knows about. This I cultivated in secret.”
“Wow, it’s more like the bat cave, the hidden side of Mariana McAllister. What other secrets are you keeping?” he playfully chided.
She shot him a look, freezing the question and anything further down that conversational line while handing him a plate.
They took their omelets and wine upstairs to the Vista Dome observation level. Eight leather-padded, dark green, semicircular booths lined one side. The four near the kitchen had tables, the four near the lounge were open with just a small circular cocktail table in the center. The dome, formed by curved panels of glass arching overhead, ran the length.
They set their dishes on a table and went down the length of the room, sliding open each window blind and exposing a dark landscape under far away stars.
Picking up their forks, they discovered they enjoyed dining together again. Both shied away from old wounds. The conversation flowed effortlessly over trivial things. They avoided the “catching up on what had been happening over the last nine years” part.
Mariana leaned back and savored the last of her wine. She looked over at Sander and thought, At a future time, we’ll have to go a little deeper. It’s hard to believe the room could hold the enormous elephant of our past without drawing attention. But I think we didn’t dodge the conversation, just postponed it until later.
Each seemed comfortable with that tacit understanding.
***
At the same time, Mansfield was storming at his staff. “All right, people. Listen up. This is a no fucking stone unturned situation, understand? We've lost them; it is up to you to find them.”
The teams arrayed in the Command Center were all veteran operatives. They moved fast to take over the city’s electronic nervous system as their own surveillance tool.
Within an hour, they had San Francisco under total digital lockdown. Every shop and institution camera, indoors and out, within the entire city, hijacked into service. Every kind of transportation record—bus, boat, planes, taxis, Uber and Lyft, down to bicycle rentals—was put under a microscope. Hotel reservations, guest names, Airbnb, and the other holiday rental services examined. Every credit card use, web search, and phone conversation within the city limits monitored. Police car cameras and radio dispatch communications scrutinized. From hospital admittance records to homeless shelter registrations. It all fell under their search.
Blair stepped up to Mansfield's raised dais at the back of the control room, his voice pitched for Mansfield's ears alone, “You know we are not going to find them, don't you? She is way too talented for any quick and easy capture. All we’re doing is burning a lot of time and putting this team through an exercise.”
“You've got nothing.”
“There is nothing to find. Come on, we've both worked with her.”
“I think that's bullshit,” came Mansfield's sharp reply. “There is something there pointing the way, we just have to find it.”
Having made his point, he relaxed and said, “But I agree, if nothing has turned up by now then we've struck out. Every hour makes the search area that much bigger. Let me tell you why we can't stop looking for them, we’re playing for the highest stakes imaginable, the control of this country. They can make us lose. Losers die; it's as simple as that. We better find them before they do us damage. We. Can’t. Fail. Do you need any more motivation?”
“I've got it. I'll drive the team on this and remember I need to make sure we accomplish our election goals as well,” said Blair.
“You can do both. There has to be something, the two of them can’t have gone entirely dark. That should be close to impossible, even for Ms. Genius. They've got to be out there somewhere. You need to go back over everything. Dig deeper. Some lead is going to turn up.”
***
Their coach began its ascent into the rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains. T
he lulling straight-line rhythm of the tracks now supplemented by sweeping turns, tunnels and snow sheds. The train’s whistle sounded its presence as it crossed mountain roads with notes lingering over the car. Inside, Mariana and Sander were lingering over a second bottle of wine.
In a slightly slurred voice, Mariana said, “Wanna hear a naughty secret?”
“Naughty?” Sander asked, scooting closer on the couch.
“Well, these couches fold out to make beds completely open to the sky yet unobserved from the ground. I like to think about what kind of things people did up here back in the day.”
Sander's ears perked up at the thought and wondered just what she might be implying. Going from hospital to hunted had left his libido confused. But her next words snapped him back to their shared reality.
“You know,” she said in a quiet, almost little girl’s voice, “we can access everything. We don't discriminate, if it’s Americans, jihadist, Facebook, world leaders, Amazon, Verizon, Hezbollah, China Telecom, or the Russian military. You name it digitally, and we tap into it. Hell, we've been doing it for sixty years and are very, very capable.”
“Want to expand on that incredible statement?”
“This is the darkest confession you are ever going to hear. Little NetSecure? We are better than any nation’s cyber-corps. Our teams trained on cyber-warfare firing ranges, with dedicated rooms full of computers where we ran simulated attack runs. We designed malware, ran deep cover penetrations, you name the dark digital pie, and we had a finger in it.”
Sander sat riveted to her disclosures, all thoughts of sex pushed to the side.
“For instance, we served as an exploit broker for the US government and NATO allies. We did zero-day research on corporate and government systems and sold these hacking opportunities. If you had the right access, you could order from an online catalog.”
