would mean his job was done.
When his earpiece vibrated slightly in his ear, he tapped it. 'Go.'
'I've spotted her, in the next car ahead of you. She's stuck in behind a bunch of students. You should be coming up on her in the next twenty yards,' Carl reported.
'Watch for other interested parties.'
'Will do. You just get up there and get her out.'
'Just watch your own ass, and let me worry about hers.' Anthony strode to the door between the cars and into the next compartment, but before he could take another step, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.
'Terry, is that you? I thought I recognized you back there!'
Anthony spun around to see a man he didn't recognize — no, that wasn't quite true. He had seen him before, in the crowd near the altercation, had even bumped into him on the way over to this train. The guy was a pretty good actor, with a huge smile plastered across his face as he waited for some spark of recognition. The only giveaway was his too-intent gaze, boring directly into Anthony's.
'I'm afraid you have the wrong person, sir. Now please excuse me…' Without waiting for a reply, Anthony turned to head deeper into the car, only to be stopped again by the other man's hand.
'Naw, I'm sure it's you, Terry Westing from Eton College, class of '93, right?'
This time Anthony didn't say anything, but whirled around so fast that he broke the other man's hold on his shoulder and pinned the offending hand between his right arm and his side, trapping him. Curling his fingers so that the second knuckles protruded in what was known as a ram's-head fist, he pistoned his left arm out, aiming for his opponent's solar plexus and a quick end to this delay. To any bystanders, it would have seemed that he had just tapped the other man, but would leave him winded and gasping on the floor.
Instead, the man moved with Anthony's attack, turning sideways to let the intended blow sail past his chest while he grabbed the outthrust hand with his own. 'Now, that just isn't very nice.' The man's voice had dropped in volume and tone, and matched Anthony's own cold intensity.
The merc's eyes widened in surprise. Shit, he's another pro! Anthony realized. Before he could move, a loud voice from behind them piped up. 'Hey, get moving, other people would like to get on board here!'
Anthony released the man's hand and twisted out of his grip, shoving him backward into the crowd of people jamming the entryway. Turning around, he scrambled past the knot of people ahead of him, shoving through and climbing over when necessary. 'Where'd she go?'
'She's getting off at the next door. I'm moving in…What the hell do you…?' The connection was suddenly cut.
'Carl, what's going on out…damn it!' Anthony vaulted over a row of chairs, narrowly missing kicking a backpacker in the head. Clambering over another row, he heard another disturbance and raised voices behind him, and knew his adversary was after him again. Reaching the door, he raced outside just in time to see Marlene duck into the Chunnel train as the doors swung shut.
'Son of a bitch! Carl, where in the hell are you?' Hearing a shout, Anthony looked up the platform to see Carl trading vicious blows with a tall, well-built black man in a torn sport coat. 'Priority members, abort, repeat, abort.' Taking a running start, Anthony leaped into the air just as the black man's back turned to him, his high side kick slamming into the guy's ribs and pushing him to the ground.
'Let's go!' Anthony saw more uniformed men approaching from down the platform, and pulled Carl away. 'Move out, now!'
The two men ran down the platform and out into the yard, disappearing into the maze of trains, tracks and cars that covered the rail yard.
15
Her heart hammering in her chest, Marlene squeezed through the doors of the high-speed train just as they closed. Grabbing a pole near the entryway, she leaned against it for support as she glanced backward to see the brown-haired man burst from the other train. He spotted two other men fighting, and went to help one of them, leaping into the air to kick the other one, then the pair ran off, pursued by police officers.
Marlene closed her eyes and swallowed hard, concentrating on not vomiting. Her stomach lurched, and not just from the slow movement of the train as it began its long acceleration out of the station. I could have been killed out there, she realized. Stepping onto the other train had been an act of desperation, and she had been surprised it had worked so well. But I also had help, of a sort, she thought, puzzling over the different groups of men who had fought each other on the platform. She knew none of those men would be caught; they knew all kinds of ways to evade the law, and they would keep coming after her, all of them, until one side or another caught her. MI-6 wanted the data — that, and to throw her into prison and toss the key, most likely. The other side, her erstwhile employer, wanted the data, too, and her dead.
'Miss?' The voice right next to Marlene brought her out of her reverie with a startled squeak. Straightening up, she opened her eyes to see a man dressed in a smart uniform holding a small device. 'If I could see your ticket, please?'
'Oh — of course.' She extracted the vital slip of paper from a pocket on her laptop case and handed it over. He inserted it into a slot on the machine, which whirred and made a buzzing noise, then spit the ticket back out into his hand.
'Just made it,' he said.
'Yes — yes, lucky me.'
'Good thing you weren't caught up in that fray outside, eh?' He held the punched ticket out. 'Thank you, and have a pleasant trip to Paris.'
'Thank you.' Taking the slip of paper, she walked down the center aisle on unsteady legs to her compartment in the middle-class accommodations. Finding an empty foursome, she sank into the nearest window seat, leaning against the cool glass and watching the graffiti-covered walls of South London fly by faster and faster as the train picked up speed.
'Excuse me, is this seat taken?' Marlene looked up to see an impeccably dressed, dark-haired man with a kind smile. He was pointing at the seat across from her, and although she didn't really want to be sitting next to anyone at the moment, she didn't feel as if she could refuse him.
'No, it's open.'
'Thank you.' His speech was colored with an accent she couldn't quite place — Italian? Greek? — and despite herself, Marlene couldn't help watching him as he sat across from her, setting a folded newspaper on the seat beside him. 'Some fortune, eh? The ticket booth said every seat in here was sold, but here we are, with no one nearby.'
'Mmm.' Marlene returned to staring out the window.
If the man caught her unspoken cue to leave her alone, he gave no sign of it. 'I just had to get out of the city one last time before winter, and I thought Paris would be nice to see this time of year. Just playing hooky, I suppose. And you, are you playing hooky, as well?'
A ghost of a smile tugged the corners Marlene's mouth up for a moment, before she shook her head. If only, she thought. 'No, I'm traveling to Paris on — personal business.' One might even say a matter of life or death.
He nodded, his liquid brown eyes never leaving her face. 'That does not surprise me, although I had hoped you would be going to the City of Lights for a vacation. It is so beautiful, and there is so much to see there.'
'Well, it's likely I won't be staying long. I'll be meeting friends there, and we'll be driving through Europe for a few weeks.'
The man's expression grew rueful, almost as if he had caught her in the lie, even though there was no way he could have known anything about her. 'Are you sure I cannot tempt you with a few days in Paris on the arm of a handsome tour guide?'
Marlene covered her mouth with her hand to hide the foolish smile on her face. I nearly got kidnapped on the platform a few minutes ago, and now this guy is hitting on me? 'You are very confident,
'Well, in my line of work, I have to be. I have to know what I want, and move to take it quickly, before someone
