THE FORD was half a block away. I unlocked it. The overhead light went on. The front seat sagged badly on the passenger side, upholstery ripped, a sharp spring showing through.
"It doesn't look like much," I apologized. "Where we're going, a nice car would stand out."
I climbed in behind the wheel. The damaged front seat hadn't been necessary- the bodyguards played it the right way- their bodies pressed against the one they had to keep safe. One of them got into the back. Train next. Then the last man.
I buckled my seat belt. Pulled away from the curb. Drove past the House of Detention. Took the Brooklyn Bridge to the FDR, heading north.
I glanced at the rearview mirror. Train was sitting quietly in the middle, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead at nothing. The two guys on either side of him were in their early twenties. Looked enough alike to be brothers. Close-cropped hair, flat faces, hooded eyes. The first generation of the breeding program? As I hooked onto Wards Island, I heard the sound of a round being chambered. Felt the pistol nestle into the back of my neck.
"You know what that is, Mr. Burke?"
"Yes."
"No matter what happens, Tommy can do his job. The pistol has a hair trigger."
"Tell him to be calm. We're almost there."
I lit a cigarette, leaning back, pressing my head into the gun. Amateurs.
I pulled over under the girders. "Okay," I said, turning sideways to speak to Train, voice low and conversational. "We'll have to walk from here. I'm rolling down my window. Why don't you have Tommy get out and hold the gun while…" I pushed the switch in the middle of the last word, ducking my head. The train hit the wall.
The gun never went off. My breath was gone. The windshield was splattered with flesh and fluid. I let air seep in through my nose until my lungs started to work. I didn't look in the back seat.
Unbuckled my seat belt. Stepped outside. My legs wouldn't work. I sat down outside the Ford, waiting. It would come back.
In a few minutes I started walking. By myself. Fingering the little transmitter in my pocket.
The Plymouth growled alongside me, running without lights. The passenger door opened. I climbed inside. Hit the switch. The window went down. Max drove slowly. The Ford was in sight. I held the transmitter out the window, as high as I could. The Mole said it had a quarter-mile range. We were much closer than that. I pushed the button. The Ford exploded. Flames filled the rearview mirror as Max hit the gas.
He dropped me off where I'd left Morehouse's car.