John, though, moved fast. He was taller, lengthier than Adele. With a herculean groan, his fingers managed to snag the Italian agent’s shirt, gripping him tight. Adele heard a loud cry of pain as John’s arm extended. Leoni’s fingers scrambled against the slick surface as he yelled, trying to find purchase, but it was too late. Above, Adele glimpsed the helicopter just barely move in time to avoid the mountain at the same time as Leoni’s momentum from his fall took him tumbling over the edge of the train.
“No!” Adele screamed.
But it was too late. She watched in horror as the Italian agent fell. John, though, growled, his hand whipping over the edge of the train with Leoni, his arm extended, braced, his whole body beginning to slide. With a shout of relief, Adele realized he’d managed to keep his grip on Leoni’s shirt, despite the plummet.
Desperately, she scrambled to the edge of the metal roof and reached over, noting the handsome agent kicking his feet and trying to latch onto the slick ceiling with both his hands. She reached down and gripped at Leoni’s collar where John also had him.
“On the count of three!” she said.
They were nearly at the tunnel.
John shouted, “Three!”
And together, they both hoisted Leoni up and onto the roof again.
The Italian agent yelled as he was pulled alongside them. They whistled into the tunnel, and all of them went flat, low, with the flashing lights from inside the train reflected in the dark cavern.
Adele lay motionless, her cheek pressed against the cold metal, gasping, staring sightless in the black. She could hear the others next to her, also breathing heavily, cursing and muttering to themselves. She heard Agent Leoni in the dark offer up a small prayer of gratitude but then groan in pain. He might have managed to maintain his balance on the train, but he’d fallen fifteen feet. She wasn’t sure how he’d landed, but by the sound of things, it hadn’t been comfortable.
They all stayed low, hunkered down as the train moved through the tunnel and then burst out the other side.
And like that, they were amidst the trees and sunlit forests, and Adele could breathe a bit easier. She sat up slowly, feeling the wind brush across them, and pointed toward the hatch in the top of one of the cars.
John and Leoni both nodded. The Italian agent was still wincing, and John was massaging the crook of his elbow. Together, the three of them moved along toward the hatch, which John opened.
First Leoni, then John, and Adele, at last, dropped down into the compartment through the hatch.
Her feet on solid ground once more, the sound of the wind suddenly shut out by the insulation of the cabin walls, Adele could hear her own breathing, coming heavy. The other two gasped raggedly, and Leoni winced, stepping delicately on his ankle. John continued to massage his arm, shaking his head and muttering, “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
They stood in the compartment that looked to be mid-remodel. There was no furniture and the walls themselves were bare as if they were simply in a moving steel box. Adele stared towards a lump in the middle of the room, beneath a white sheet.
“John,” she said, hesitantly.
Renee glanced over, frowning, then spotted the source of her attention. He muttered to himself but moved forward, and with his foot nudged the edge of the fabric. A cold hand jutted out from beneath the sheet.
“I think that’s our body,” Adele said, shivering. Normally, corpses were removed before she reached the scene, or if they were still there, the coroner would be as well. But in this case, with a moving crime scene, the police hadn’t managed to reach the train yet. No access roads. Hence the stunt with the helicopter. Which meant that no one had touched the body—at least not yet. No one except the killer.
Adele glanced around the bare compartment, toward the glow of light coming through the reflective glass divider at the back. Through it, she could see faces peering into the car where they had landed.
She glanced at the Italian agent and muttered, “Are you okay?”
Leoni winced and tested his leg, pressing it against the ground and hissing through his lips. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “Thanks,” he added, glancing at John.
“Whatever,” Renee muttered. “You’re fine—I got your back, just try not to screw anything else up.” Then he turned promptly away from the Italian and began to march across the compartment toward the glass divider with the faces peering into the car.
“This should be interesting,” Leoni muttered to Adele, his eyes tracking the lanky Frenchman.
Adele sighed and shrugged, but then winced sympathetically. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Leoni hesitated. “I should be fine.”
“Need a hand? You could balance on my shoulder.”
John looked back from where he’d paused in front of the divider, frowning. Agent Leoni noticed this and just said, “No, I should be fine, thank you.”
Adele nodded, watching as the Italian began to limp along after John toward the divider between the cars. She regarded the lump beneath the thin sheet for a moment, frowning in thought. And then, with a sigh, she followed after the two men. The killer was still stuck on the train with them. One of the faces staring out at them, perhaps? Someone hiding? The train was about an hour away from the nearest station. An hour to solve this. An hour before the German authorities got involved. An hour before the passengers were allowed to disperse, or escape.
***
The man with kind eyes peered over the shoulders of the other gawkers at the three new arrivals on the train. He’d heard the helicopter, glimpsed it through the window. Now, he spotted three new passengers, all of them with the physiques and intense scowls that might accompany law enforcement.
Had they really rappelled in?
He cursed to himself. He’d intended to disembark at the next station, making good his getaway in the crowd. Already, he’d planned out three routes of exit in case the authorities tried to sequester the train. But now, on the move in the wilderness? A much harder feat.
The kind-eyed man listened to the murmurs and mutterings of the passengers around him. He tried to look sufficiently surprised himself.
“Who do you think they are?” one was saying.
“I think I heard a plane earlier,” another replied.
“No, they’re maintenance. They came from the service hatch. Probably just here to take care of the body,” another said.
“That woman,” a third added. “I think I recognize her from the papers. Isn’t she the one who landed that plane on the autobahn?”
A chorus of conversation followed this final comment, accompanied by the murmurings like a bunch of clucking hens.
The kind-eyed man resisted the urge to grab one of the chickens and wring their necks right there. No, he needed to keep a low profile, to blend in. Three wolves had wandered into the chicken coop, but he was in sheep’s clothing—he’d avoided capture so far. He refused to feel afraid. Not for these new arrivals—feds by the look of them. Not for the passengers around him. Not for anyone. Fear was for the uninitiated.
He glanced through the window at the passing terrain—the train had slowed now. Could he possibly leap from the locomotive? Get a running start?
No. Not yet. Too conspicuous. It would be like sending a flare declaring his guilt. Besides, it wasn’t like they knew. How could they? He’d been careful—covered his tracks. Moved from train line to line, country to country. Careful, planned, inconspicuous.