The train for Paris was due to leave from the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof in thirty-five minutes. The departure platform hadn’t been posted yet, so Bourne and Abbey sat on the cold ground near the building’s huge stone pillars. The arched metal roof loomed high over their heads, and warm air blew in with the arrivals and departures of the trains. They both had sections of the Allgemeine Zeitung newspaper that they pretended to read while they observed the activity inside the station.
Saira and Oskar browsed in a nearby clothing store. He wanted them out of sight until the last moment when they could board the train.
There were police everywhere. That wasn’t unusual. But Bourne kept an eye on them, checking their behavior periodically to see if their alert status suddenly changed. He’d switched clothes in a bathroom, and he wore a tweed cap and sunglasses, in case any description of him had been posted. So far, he saw nothing but the ordinary bustle of travelers coming and going. Even so, he’d be happier when they were on the train.
“You look like you’re waiting for something to happen,” Abbey murmured.
“I am.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet, but I don’t think the Pyramid will waste any time in striking back.”
He looked up to see Saira and Oskar standing over them. Oskar slid down the stone wall and sat next to Jason, but Saira stayed standing, her face taut with concern. She watched the feed from CNN International on a large television screen near the train schedules. Oskar wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled a fedora lower on his forehead.
“I told you to wait in the store,” Bourne said.
Oskar nodded. “I know, but we were taking too long in there. The woman at the checkout counter kept staring at us like we were shoplifters or something. I was afraid she would call the police.”
“Okay. Smart move.” Jason checked the time on the railway board. “Still no platform, but there’s no indication of a delay. Hopefully we’ll be on the InterCity train in less than fifteen minutes. We’ve got seats together, and I bought out the rest of the compartment.”
“Why Paris?” Oskar asked.
Bourne shrugged. He didn’t mention that his selection of Paris as a destination was automatic, that Paris always felt like home to him. “It’s as good a place as any. We may not get that far. I chose a route with intermediate stops so we have a chance to get off if anything changes. I don’t want us trapped on a long-haul for multiple hours.”
They sat for five more minutes. There was still no platform announced on the board. Bourne reminded himself that the platform was usually only posted a few minutes before the train’s departure, but the delay made him nervous anyway. He knew they weren’t in the clear yet. He wasn’t sure what the Pyramid would do, but he could imagine phone calls flying back and forth between Germany and the U.S. Critical information had been stolen—data that could blow the conspiracy wide open. That couldn’t be tolerated. Varak would try to defuse the bomb, but Bourne wasn’t sure how. Not knowing made him anxious.
Then, above him, Saira hissed sharply.
“What is it?” he asked.
Saira began to point, but then she dropped her arm and turned away, as if she wanted to make sure that no one saw her. Looking up, Bourne understood why. He glanced at the jumbo television screen and saw a picture of Saira’s face staring back at him on the international news.
He read the chyron.
leading scientist accused of research fraud
“They’re not wasting any time,” he said.
Saira slid down the wall to sit beside Abbey, who took her hand. The scientist looked hollowed out, staring at the screen. There was no sound, and the subtitles were in German, so Bourne gave Saira a summary of what they were saying.
“They’re not talking about any evidence yet, no interviews or documents,” he translated. “They must not have had time to manufacture it. It’s all ‘anonymous sources say,’ but they’re accusing you of falsifying test results and manipulating studies to draw erroneous conclusions. They claim the fraud goes back for years.”
“It’s bullshit,” Abbey interjected, squeezing Saira’s hand. “Everyone will know that.”
Saira shook her head. “Like they knew with you?”
“You have friends. Colleagues. They know your work.”
“So did you. Lies are easier to believe.”
“This is a proactive strike,” Bourne said. “They know you were involved in the theft of the data. They’re laying the groundwork to discredit you, so that no one believes anything you say. If you stand up and talk about the Pyramid and what they’ve done, the talking heads will say it’s all a desperate attempt to change the subject from the allegations against you.”
“And it will work,” Saira said. “My life. My career. Over, just like that. How could I ever have allowed myself to be taken in by these people?”
She put her head between her legs, her hair falling forward. Abbey draped an arm around her shoulders. Bourne kept watching the television screen, and when the report was done, he checked the schedule board again. With relief, he saw that there was now a platform number for the Paris train. Platform nine, on the far side of the station. They had six minutes to get aboard, and German trains always left on time.
“We need to go,” he told them.
Automatically, he did a survey of their surroundings again before he stood up. Then he froze with alarm. From where they were sitting, he could see two German police officers on opposite ends of the station. They’d passed back and forth several times since Bourne had arrived, but up until now, they’d patrolled the area with the typical jaded expressions of cops having a dull day. Now everything had changed. Both men had their radios in their hands. Their faces were hard, and their alert eyes had begun to go from face to face, watching the passengers on the platforms.
“Shit.”
“What is it?” Abbey asked with concern.
“Something’s wrong. An alert has gone out to the police.”
“For you?”
Bourne didn’t have a chance to answer. Oskar interrupted with a fierce whisper, and the hacker’s stare was glued to the TV screen.
“Oh, fuck. No, not for you, for me. They’re after me.”
Above them, on the oversized screen, the local Frankfurt news channel had interrupted the international broadcast with a special report. A manhunt. A photograph of Oskar filled the screen, so large that anyone in the station had to notice it. Below the photograph were three words in huge black type: Wegen Mordes Gesucht.
Wanted for murder.
“They’re saying I killed a guard in the institute building today,” Oskar muttered in disbelief. “Stabbed him with a screwdriver! They’re saying I was the one who called in the bomb threat yesterday. Shit, oh my God, now they’re claiming there was a bomb! They disarmed it before it blew up the whole building! They’ve got a citywide manhunt underway, and I’m armed and dangerous. A terrorist! Jesus, they’re going to kill me! They’re giving the police an excuse to shoot me down!”
“Oskar.” Bourne spat out the man’s name in a hushed voice. He took the man’s wrist. “Keep it together. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“They’re looking for me. And the woman in that shop saw me! If she sees my photo on the screen, she’ll tell them I’m here.”
“I know. We need to get you on that train and get out of here.”
Abbey turned to Jason. Her expression was completely calm, and he couldn’t help but notice the change in her. Ever since she’d fired that gun in the park near Georgetown, she was someone different. It was as if she’d gone from her world to his world, and she was thinking like him. Like a spy, like a killer, which she was not. He hated to see it, and yet she was also learning fast.
“We need a diversion,” Abbey said, reading his mind.
“Yes.”
“It can’t be you,” she went on. “Your picture may not be on the news, but the police may have a description of you, too.”
“It doesn’t matter. The three of you can go on without me.”
“No, Jason.” Abbey got to her feet immediately, and she spoke in a low voice. “I’ll redirect the police. I’ll tell them I saw Oskar in that shop, and he was heading toward the first-class lounge. That should bring them all running. As soon as there’s a clear path, the three of you get to the train. I’ll follow. I’ll get there before it goes.”
“Not a chance,” Bourne told her fiercely. “No way.”
But Abbey didn’t listen to his protest. She walked away, knowing he didn’t dare make a scene. Jason watched her, but he didn’t have time for the emotions rolling through him, so he shut them down. He made sure Saira and Oskar stayed undercover, their heads down, as he watched Abbey approach one of the cops near the station entrance. She was acting, and she was good—just the right amount of panic and fear as she pointed to the TV screen, which still showed Oskar’s face.
The plan worked. The cop barked something into his radio, and the cop who was closest to the three of them ran toward the other side of the station, not noticing Oskar in the shadows of the stone pillar. As soon as the cop was gone, Bourne helped Saira to her feet, and they started toward platform nine. Oskar had his hat low, staring at the station floor the whole time. Saira was lost in her thoughts. He led them through the crowd, watching eyes, making sure none of the others around them did a double take of recognition. He was also conscious of the station cameras, because he was sure the people in the security booth had received an alert with Oskar’s photograph.
“Relax,” he murmured to them. “Don’t hurry. Act casual.”
They reached the slim bullet of the train at platform nine. It was scheduled to depart in two minutes, and most of the passengers had already found their seats. Bourne went to the first car and waited while Saira and Oskar climbed on board. He glanced back toward the heart of the station, looking for Abbey, willing her to hurry. But there was no sign of her. Two minutes turned to one, and he knew there would be no reprieve. If she wasn’t on board, the train would leave without her.
At the far end, the train attendant began going from car to car, slamming the doors shut.
“Abbey,” Bourne hissed to himself under his breath. “Where are you?”
Then she was there. Running. She flew through the station toward him, and she arrived almost at the same moment the conductor reached the car to shoo them aboard the train. Bourne let Abbey go first, and they’d barely cleared the steps when the door clicked shut behind them. The train was already slouching out of the station as they made their way down the corridor, looking for the compartment where Saira and Oskar had taken their seats.
“You’re amazing, do you know that?” he murmured to Abbey, who glanced back at him with a flushed grin.
They found the compartment in the third carriage, and they slid open the door. There were six leather seats inside, with a small table in the middle of the compartment near the large window. Saira and Oskar sat next to each on the right side, and their faces dissolved with relief as they saw Bourne and Abbey.
Bourne let Abbey sit by the window, and he sat next to her. He didn’t like that the sliding glass doors of the compartment offered no privacy, but that couldn’t be helped. He kept an eye on the corridor, but for the moment, the other passengers stayed in their seats. As he looked outside, he saw the train clear the station platform, and they passed along the wide spread of railroad tracks as they slowly picked up speed. Rows of apartment towers loomed beyond the tracks.
Then the train jolted.
Their momentum thudded to a halt as the train lurched into an emergency stop. They were just outside the station building, still among the field of parallel tracks that converged from multiple directions like wires tied together.
Bourne jumped to his feet. “We need to get out of here.”
But they were too late. Through the window, he saw police officers running along the tracks. They all had guns drawn. When he went to the compartment door, he saw more police taking up positions on the other side of the train. He slid open the door, but he heard the pounding of footsteps on both ends of the train car. They were trapped. Pinned on all sides with nowhere to hide.
He shut the door again and sat down. A look of despair and defeat crossed Abbey’s face. “How did they find us so quickly?” she asked.
“They were waiting for us,” Jason said. “They knew. They let us go, because they already knew where we were.”
“Can we run?”
“Not and stay alive,” he told her.
The police were already close. He heard them in one of the nearby compartments, opening doors, closing them; he heard the guttural shout of voices in German. They knew exactly who they were looking for. He slid a hand inside his coat, wrapping his fingers around the barrel of his gun, but they were outnumbered. There wasn’t going to be a chance to fight their way free.
He felt the thumb drive in his pocket.
They’d get that, too. All the evidence would be gone.
Bourne looked up and saw a police officer in the corridor, flanked by three other men. The senior man reached for the compartment door, but then, oddly, he stopped. He glanced down the corridor with annoyance, and Jason saw a new man arrive, not in a uniform, but in a suit. The new man was older, with a take-charge attitude that the cops didn’t like. He was definitely not police. Bourne knew the look of a spy. The new man barked orders at the senior policeman, who put up a furious argument for a few seconds, then gave up and stormed away, leading the rest of his men with him.
Outside the train, Bourne saw the same thing. The police began to withdraw.
The intelligence man in the corridor stroked his chin as he studied the four people in the compartment. A little smile crept onto his face, and he tipped his finger to his forehead in a little salute to Bourne.
Then he, too, disappeared.
They were alone again. A few seconds later, the train jerked, and they accelerated again, heading out of the city.
“Jason, what the hell?” Abbey asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied in genuine confusion. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
Then as the train rattled along the tracks, he saw a small man with wiry, brushed-back gray hair appear at the doors. The man was almost sixty, and he walked with a cane, stumbling a bit with the side-to-side motion of the train. He slid open the door and came inside, then piled down into one of the two empty seats, sitting across from Bourne and Abbey.
“Hello, Jason,” Nash Rollins said. “And Ms. Laurent, what a pleasure to see you again. It’s been a while.”