A Hostile State by Adrian Magson (reading eggs books txt) 📗

was going to get us along any faster. A number of men in a work gang were standing by the side of the track, although they didn’t look too unhappy at the interruption. As I turned to look at what they were working on, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye from the connecting door to the next carriage.

Lindsay, who was sitting across from me, saw it, too. ‘There’s a man watching us,’ she said quietly, staring out of the window and yawning. ‘I think he got on the train after us.’

Damn. It was either the watcher I’d spotted in Épernon or someone he’d pointed after us. I’d been so focussed on where we were heading I’d lost sight for a moment of checking the people around us.

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Nothing. Just staring … oh, hang on – he’s using a cellphone.’

I told myself it could be nothing. Another bored traveller eyeing up a pretty girl – Lindsay – the way guys in Latin countries do. For most it’s harmless eyeballing in the hopes of getting a smile in return. But maybe not this time.

I turned my head and gave him a quick glance. An ordinary looking guy, dressed in everyday casual clothes of a windcheater and jeans, clean-shaven with short cropped hair and long sideburns.

Ordinary but not local. I’d bet my boots on it.

The way he had the cellphone clamped to his ear without talking was the giveaway. His eyes had that fixed look that told me he wasn’t listening either, and had my every instinct kicking into top gear. Unless I was too keyed up and imagining things.

Then he looked across, unable to resist it any longer, and locked eyes with me before quickly turning his head away again. That was it.

We’d been tagged.

The next stop was Courcelle-sur-Yvette. If we stayed on this train and the guy was in touch with mobile reinforcements, they would eventually take us at one of the upcoming stops. They had already demonstrated the fact that they were able to bring in men wherever they were required, and I had no doubt they would want to complete their mission before we arrived in the city proper, where escape after an assault would be a lot harder and fraught with danger.

For us, whether cops or bad guys, the end would be the same.

‘Don’t look at or acknowledge me,’ I said softly, and handed her the bag of remaining sandwiches and drinks. ‘When the train stops we get off and you move ahead of me. Don’t wait for me but leave the station. I’ll be right behind you.’

Lindsay bent to fiddle with a shoe lace and her voice floated up to me loaded with concern. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘That depends on him.’

I could see the station coming up. It looked deserted and small, typical commuter-land territory, which was both good and bad. The fewer people around the better, in case we ran into trouble, but the area looked way more open and more difficult to run and hide than I’d have liked.

But hell, you can only work with what you’ve got.

The train stopped and the doors opened. Lindsay and I were the only ones getting off, with maybe a dozen or so climbing aboard. Unless the Russians were hiring elderly women with shopping bags and the rolling gait indicating bad knees, none of them looked like members of a hit squad.

As we headed for the exit I caught a glimpse of the man from the next carriage stepping down and following. He still had the phone to his ear but was now looking animated and doing all the talking. We’d caught him off-guard and he was either issuing instructions or asking for back-up.

As we reached the station building, which was small and brick-built, I slowed down and allowed Lindsay to move ahead of me. There was no ticket barrier and nobody asking to see proof of travel. In fact I couldn’t see any staff at all. Lindsay walked straight through and disappeared outside while I loitered by a brochure stand near the door and began to count down the time to his arrival.

The train left the station and everything went quiet.

Ten seconds. I heard the man’s footsteps approaching. I crouched to pick up a handful of local area tourist leaflets that had fallen to the floor. I had my backpack in my other hand with a firm grip on the straps.

Seven seconds. His feet scuffed on the ground as he hurried to catch up. Maybe he’d figured we had a car waiting and had been ordered to intercept us. If so he might be armed and ready to fight.

Five seconds. His shadow moved across the doorway to the platform. I could hear his breaths coming in short puffs. He was either nervous or out of condition. Hopefully the latter.

One second. As he came through the doorway his eyes were fixed on the exit and Lindsay’s form out in the open ahead of him. He frowned momentarily and hesitated, no doubt wondering why there was only one figure, not two. It took him a moment to spot me, bent close to the floor, and his brain had to work hard to process what he’d expected to see compared with what was before him.

It was all the edge I was going to get. I tossed the bunch of leaflets hard into his face. He yelped in surprise and instinctively raised one arm as they flared around him. I followed up fast, coming off the floor and swinging my backpack like a flail. He tried to block it but was reacting way too late and thrown off-balance by the leaflets.

The weight of the two guns inside the backpack acted like a cudgel, striking him across the side of the head. As he grunted and dropped his phone, I followed up with a knuckle strike to the side of his neck. He went limp and hit the floor, out for the count.

I