SEVENTY-ONE

The train was slowing for its next scheduled stop when Pierce opened the bathroom door and backed into the swaying corridor.

Razor had been standing in front, as if waiting to use it, ensuring no one would enter while Pierce bound the woman who had been using the fishing line garrote. He caught a glimpse of the woman curled up inside on the floor. Just above a swatch of hair that covered her lower face like a beard, her eyes were wide—fury, maybe, or fear—but it looked like Pierce had done a good enough job binding her using the fishing line, shoelaces, and lengths of cloth ripped from the loose black jacket Razor had been wearing earlier.

“Nice touch,” Razor said. It wasn’t necessary to mention what Razor meant. Pierce had stuffed the wig deep inside the woman’s mouth, wrapping it in place with a strip of ripped cloth, hair sticking in all directions.

Pierce shrugged. “She can breathe.”

Razor was trying to put this together. He had painstakingly thought through every detail to set up a meeting with Pierce without risking his own capture. Getting Illegals—the kid and the hooker—to deliver his messages had been simple. Timing the train was a little more complicated, but worth it; if Pierce had tried to take other agents onto the train, Razor could have escaped easily, and he’d been watching Pierce’s approach from the train window to ensure Pierce was alone.

Razor had seen two women get on the train with Pierce and had waited stop after stop, trying to decide if either was connected with him or to him. When Razor had made the final approach, in his simple disguise, he’d seen the woman behind Pierce. Thinking trap, he’d noticed something much different instead.

But why had Pierce been a target?

“May be better if she can’t breathe,” Razor said. Throwing it out there to see what he could learn from the answer.

“Be my guest,” Pierce said, hand on the door, ready to open it. “All you’ll need to do is pinch her nostrils. She’s not in a position to stop you.”

The answer had given him nothing.

Didn’t matter too much, Razor thought. He still had the leverage he’d planned to use with Pierce before this complication.

Razor had Caitlyn.

Pierce didn’t.

“Killing’s not my style,” Razor said.

“Mine either,” Pierce said. He rubbed his neck. Gingerly. The fishing line had cut through in a few places, and when he pulled his hand away, his fingers were smeared with blood. “But I was tempted.”

Pierce gave the door handle a quick twist, breaking it off.

Razor noticed that Pierce tucked the handle in his pocket instead of dropping it. That did tell him something. Pierce was careful. And smart.

“An old move,” Pierce said. “But effective. It’ll give us a couple hours. Enough that we can make it back on the train in the opposite direction.”

He paused before asking Razor, “You like coffee?”

Five minutes later, they’d crossed the platform and caught the inbound train. They found the restaurant compartment, where Pierce had ordered coffee.

What Pierce hadn’t told Razor was that while he was tying up the assassin in the bathroom, he’d made a call behind the closed door. There’d be someone in New York to collect her. He also hadn’t mentioned that if Razor had called his bluff and tried to kill the woman, Pierce would have stepped in to stop it. Dead women can’t talk; Pierce wanted her alive and held because what she knew would be helpful, sooner or later.

He’d called in a few favors to his New York contacts. They came from the rough side of town, and they’d get answers from her. First thing Pierce wanted to know was if the kill attempt had been authorized by the agency or the military. That would make a big difference to Pierce’s long-term future. Short term, though, he had an unlikely partner.

Pierce looked over his cup at this new partner, who’d chosen cola, on ice, wedge of lemon.

“How old are you?” Pierce asked. It was more a rhetorical question. As a lead in. Pierce already knew the kid was twenty-two.

“Not ancient.” Leaving it unsaid. Like you.

“When you’re ancient,” Pierce said, “you know that a couple of colas a day adds up to a lot of sugar. Keep doing this, by the time you get to my age, you’ll weigh double.”

“You pick your poison. I’ll pick mine.”

“Fair enough.” Pierce sipped at his coffee, waiting. Razor had been the one to make the move for them to get together.

“I can’t see you having any reason to trust me,” Razor said.

“Which is another way of saying you’re not going to trust anything I say. How about let’s get straight to it. What do you want?”

“Let me ask first. That woman who tried to kill you, it have anything to do with Caitlyn?”

Pierce continued sipping his coffee. He was confident his face wouldn’t reveal any answers.

“I doubt someone from the agency wants you dead,” Razor said. “You were on the train to make contact with me. Why get rid of you before getting me? So it had to be someone outside the agency. If it was about Caitlyn, who else knows what’s happening? And how do they know? It wasn’t until night before last that the Enforcers picked her up.”

Same questions Pierce wanted answered. Or rather confirmed. His guess was the military, stirred up after Wilson tracked down who had been at Swain’s the night before.

“What do you want?” Pierce asked Razor.

“Maybe we should be working together,” Razor said. “I can keep you in safe places over the next few days.”

“We’re opposite sides of the table here,” Pierce said. “My job is to put you in custody. Not look for sanctuary.”

“Because you want Caitlyn. I got that figured out.”

“Yet here you are.”

“And here you are. Haven’t tried anything to put me in custody. Like pulling an emergency cord, stopping the train, and getting it put in lockdown. Or taking me down right now and getting someone on the train to call in that you’ve got me captured.”

“Maybe I made a call while I was tying up the woman. Maybe agents will swarm us at the next stop.”

“You’re not that stupid,” Razor said. He hadn’t touched his soda yet. The glass was sweating slightly, bubbles still accelerating up the sides. “Can’t be coincidence that someone tried to take you out. It’s possible that it’s unrelated, but come on. What are the chances that with all that’s happening, there’s some other factor involved?”

“Tell me why you wanted to meet,” Pierce said. “Or are you too stupid to figure out I’m not interested in talking? Just listening.”

“I’ve lost a lot of motivation to talk,” Razor said. “I’ve just learned that someone wants you dead, and it’s got to be someone well connected. Until I know who and why, I’m going to wonder if you’re still in a position to help me.”

“Depends what you want.”

Razor finally picked up his soda. He drank through the straw, keeping an eye on Pierce. He drank all of it. Slowly. Like he was taking time to think.

“Here’s my bet,” Razor finally said, setting the glass aside. “Whoever wants you dead is outside the agency, and the reason is because this ‘whoever’ also wants Caitlyn. That means whoever it is doesn’t have any fear of the agency or doesn’t expect the agency can help you. So you’re going to need Caitlyn, either to save your own life or to give the agency some leverage. I bet we end up on the same side of the table.”

Pierce had to admit, only to himself, that the kid was sharp.

“That would mean you’d have to trust me,” Pierce said. “I don’t see that happening.”

“As long as I hold on to what you want until I can get away safe, I’ll be fine.”

“Fair enough.” Pierce felt the coffee kick in. Or maybe it was a delayed buzz from his near death. It had been like this a few other times. In the moment, all you can do is react. Later, when it was safe, the shakes would start.

But it wasn’t safe yet. Wilson and his son were in danger. Pierce needed more information to decide if he and Wilson had been given up by the agency.

“That mean I won my bet?” Razor asked.

“I don’t make bets I’d lose,” Pierce said. “And yes, I might need a safe place for the next couple days.”

“Then I’ll go first,” Razor said. “There’s a guy named Swain. He thinks I’m going to deliver Caitlyn this afternoon to an address of his choice. An old-fashioned exchange. The girl for money.”

“You’re not going to deliver?”

“Depends on who will give me more for her,” Razor said. “My plan was for this to be a negotiating session. Highest bidder wins. You need to prove to me you’re in a position to deliver whatever you promise to get her first. So start by telling me why the agency wants her so bad.”