Parallel Lies (43 page)

For this reason, Alvarez reached down and placed the McClaren explosive onto the coupler alongside the main pin. It adhered to the forged steel magnetically. Checking his portable GPS one last time, he threw the two switches, starting the timer and triggering a tamperproof detonation device: if the magnetic bond with the coupler was disturbed, the bomb would explode prematurely.

Life is made of moments, and had Alvarez finished doing this at a different moment, his plans might have ticked along as scheduled. But after replacing the floor flange, as he was locking up the accordion wall, he felt an urgency to look over his left shoulder and through the tempered glass window into the dining car. It was a wholly inexplicable urge. His plans had called for him to hurry back to car nine and the waiting duffel bag. Escape!

He caught sight of the back of a woman’s head. A chill swept through him, and now he was drawn to trip open the door and go into the dining car. It smelled some of perfume, with a dash of locker room. His nerves were jangling. Something cut to his gut. He feared his plans had been uncovered. He took another step into the car, his heart beating wildly. He saw sport jackets hanging on coat clips, white shirts and ties and small orbs of sweat; he smelled beer and pretzels, Scotch and traces of cigars; he heard loud voices and laughter. Part high school, part summer camp, part press room. A few of the men appeared to have already reached a sloppy drunk.

Out the dining car windows, he caught sight of a faintly rust-red skyline.
Trenton, New Jersey,
he thought, realizing Goheen would start his press conference any minute.

The people suddenly seemed to be talking louder, their laughter directed at him. He knew he’d made a mistake entering this car. He wanted to turn around but felt himself resisting. What had drawn him in here? Who? A guest? A security guard? Goheen himself? That feeling burned in him—something was terribly wrong. He checked his watch. His video would start playing in less than three minutes.

A waiter bearing a tray of champagne held high was barely able to pass. He squeezed by Alvarez, excusing himself. Alvarez turned to move out of the man’s way, and as he did so, he couldn’t resist looking up ahead into the crowded car.

He made the move nonchalantly, a polite gesture to allow the waiter through.

There was that same woman, not ten feet from him. She turned her head away, just as Alvarez rotated, as if avoiding him. She wore a dark blue, crushed velvet cocktail dress. She had skin the color of pearls, her face framed in dark hair. Now she turned toward him. It was Jillian.

“You’re telling me we’ve been walking right by this guy?” Coopersmith asked.

“I think so, yes,” Tyler answered quietly. They stood in the vestibule between cars eight and nine, tucked around the edge of the accordion connector alongside three carpeted shelves for luggage. “That dummy hidden in the maintenance closet was no practical joke, it was an extra. Extra because Alvarez is now occupying a seat.”

Coopersmith, distracted by the gun in Tyler’s right hand, didn’t seem to hear.

“And I think he’s probably monitoring our radios—both maintenance and security frequencies. We can’t use the radios.”

“You don’t know for sure he’s even aboard this train.”

“I bet we’re about to confirm that,” Tyler said. “We should be finding a black duffel bag, possibly with clothes inside, possibly with explosives, hidden behind the panel in one of the mechanical closets. That is, if we’re lucky. Otherwise he’s already moved that duffel to an overhead rack, where it’s blending in with the other carry-ons. In that case, whether he’s on board or not, this train could already be rigged to derail.”

“That’s bullshit. Besides, why the mechanical closets?”

“Because he hid the dummy there. We know he has access. A key. Whatever. And that means he has access to
anywhere
on this train—a full set of keys. I’d count on that.”

“But that’s just not possible.”

Tyler had no time to argue. “Normally, I’d try to get word to security. But now without using the radios we can’t trust security,” he said, returning to the ruse he had invented to protect himself. “That means I personally check every crashtest dummy on this train. And I’ll need your guys, the two guys in car six, to clear these four rear cars and block that door at six. We can’t let him slip by and reach the forward cars. Too many people there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Coopersmith said reluctantly. “I can do that.”

“We do the mechanical closets both for that duffel bag and for any tampering,” Tyler reminded him. “I’d pay special attention to the guidance systems.”

“You’re way off base on this.”

Tyler barreled ahead. “I’ll take car nine. You and I already did the closet in eight. But seven, six, and all cars forward have to be thoroughly rechecked.”

“No problem.”

“For now we’ll focus on these rear cars. If we have to move forward, if we start pushing guests around, it’s going to get sticky.” He asked, “What about
under
the cars?”

“At these speeds?”

“Can he access the electronics down there?”

Coopersmith considered. His face soured. “If he knew what he was doing, if he had the wiring schematics, it’s possible he could interrupt the data cables. But trust me, he doesn’t have the schematics.”

Tyler wasn’t so sure, but he held his tongue.

“And a hundred-and-fifty-mile-an-hour windchill? A man wouldn’t last ten minutes down there.”

For Tyler, it was still a possibility he needed to follow up. He didn’t put anything past Alvarez. He knew the man. “If you find that duffel, go on the radio and announce that you found the missing wrench. You got that?”

“Missing wrench,” Coopersmith echoed. For such a big man, he looked a little frightened, his face florid, eyes bulging.

Tyler again felt relief that Nell had left the train with Gretchen Goheen. He had a feeling Alvarez was hiding in car nine. If so, perhaps the train was already rigged to roll. The last car—nine—was the farthest from the action and, as such, presented the best hiding place. Tyler moved quickly.

Coopersmith went forward to empty the rear cars of any stray passengers and to block egress from six into the dining car.

Tyler entered car nine, at once excited and terrified. He walked to the far end of the car, to a locked door with a tempered glass window. It was dark out. Tyler couldn’t see a thing out there. He walked the car then, taking hold of each of the half dozen life-sized dummies that had been randomly placed about. He shook each of the dummies, ensuring they weren’t concealing a person. The mannequins were too small and skinny to hide anyone. If Alvarez was in here, he had to be costumed as a dummy.

Tyler marveled at the number of mannequins, the elaborate masquerade to impress the media, the expense to which Northern Union had gone.

By the time he reached the front of the last car, Tyler felt nauseous, disappointed, and in the throes of self-doubt. Through process of elimination, he’d convinced himself that he’d find Alvarez hiding here. Now, his thoughts strayed back to the undercarriage where they had found his original hiding place. Had he somehow eluded them during their exhaustive search? What if Alvarez had intended to remain outside for the whole trip? Tyler glanced at his watch. He didn’t have much time. The train was up to speed. There was no reason for Alvarez to wait. The longer he waited, the greater the chance of being caught.

It took Tyler three tries with the keys to find the one that
opened the mechanical closet. He stared into the empty space, more discouraged, and then worked on the latch to the interior panel. It came open. Lying on the floor in front of him, crumpled and standing on one end, was a black duffel bag.

“Oh, shit,” Tyler gasped aloud, not a soul within earshot.

The duffel’s zippers were not locked together, though a tiny padlock did hang there. This told him that Alvarez had been rushed, had left the duffel perhaps half expecting it might be found. A tad of encouragement buoyed him. He unzipped the bag and searched it. The largest of the items came out first, a stuff sack the size and shape of a sleeping bag.
To keep him warm under that train,
Tyler decided.
Does this mean he’s still on the train, not under it?
he wondered. The only other fairly large item was a cardboard shipping box, of a size to contain a crash test dummy, since the only bulky part of the costume would be the plastic head. He found duct tape, nylon webbing, a wire cable ratcheted winch called a come-along, flares, superglue, matches, spare batteries, and a laptop computer. But no explosives, no corrosive acid, no GPS devices.

Tyler focused on the computer. He tried to turn it on, but no surprise, it was password-protected. Maybe some lab tech at the FBI could some day access it, but for the time being, it was useless as evidence. His momentary encouragement lost ground to increasing panic: Alvarez
was
on board, and he meant business.

He got on the radio and announced he’d found the missing wrench. Coopersmith called back, “Yeah? Well we need you in seven.”

Tyler, anxiety mounting, repacked the duffel and slung it over his shoulder, locking up the closet. He would ask one of Coopersmith’s guys to deliver the duffel to the second dining car, requesting it be locked up behind the counter where it would also be under the constant watch of a bartender. The mechanical closet was bait now—Tyler believed
Alvarez would return for the duffel at some point. But did its being hidden in the train’s final car hold significance? A person couldn’t jump from a train at nearly two hundred miles an hour. Or could he?

Tyler inspected the sleeping bag more thoroughly: it wasn’t a sleeping bag at all but a thin, extremely lightweight synthetic material. He pulled it out further—yards of parachute cord. It was a parasail, a controllable parachute.

Tyler knew at that moment what Alvarez had in mind. The man was going to separate the train in two. The front half would derail. Then he’d parasail off the back to freedom.

Tyler quickly caught up to Coopersmith and his two men, who were all gathered around the maintenance closet to car seven.

Coopersmith saw him coming and said, “He shanked this lock. Superglue, I think. Filled the hole. Can’t get a key in.” He faced Tyler and apologized, “So maybe I was wrong about his having a set of keys.”

“The stabilizers?”

“For this car, they’re controlled inside the closet. Yes.”

“Could tampering with a single car derail the train?”

“No,” Coopersmith answered. “Too many redundancies built in.” He added, “At worst, he fries three separate boards and the override kicks in and disengages the engine.”

Glancing frontward, sensing he’d missed his chance at Alvarez, Tyler said, “You’ve got to get inside this closet while I keep looking for him.”

“Hell, we’ll never get this door open. The French built these things like brick shit houses. They didn’t want anyone messing with the gear.”

Tyler repeated, “You’ve got to get in there.”

“We should stop the train,” Coopersmith abruptly decided,
elbowing one of his workers aside and headed for the ceiling-mounted emergency brake.

Tyler accepted that if they stopped, Alvarez at least could not derail the train. He followed on the chief’s heels, his mind whirring.

Coopersmith broke the glass barrier and reached for the emergency brake. Tyler grabbed hold of the man’s forearm. He asked, “What if that’s what he wants us to do? Panic us? Make us hit the brakes?”

Coopersmith stared at him angrily, keenly aware of Tyler’s hand restraining his forearm.

Tyler went on, “What if hitting the brakes will roll the car? What if he’s rigged it to do that? How can we be sure?”

Coopersmith’s eyes seemed to shift in their sockets. His hand remained on the brake as he clearly debated leaning his weight into it, his brow beaded with sweat.

Tyler said, “What if we get the driver to just cut the engine and let it glide to a stop?”

“At these speeds, with no brakes, you’re talking miles for this baby to come to a full stop.” His hand remained clutched to the emergency chain. “Listen, if he’s screwed with the stabilizers, if he knows what he’s doing, this thing could still roll at thirty, forty miles an hour on a
straightaway.
It could injure, even kill people. That’s a big chance to take.”