Stealing Trinity (28 page)

He caught up before she reached the first side street. "Excuse me! Miss!"

She turned.

Thatcher was sure the man back at the ticket window was watching. He stopped a few steps away, eyeing the girl like a father who'd just caught his daughter sneaking back in a window at three in the morning. It worked. Her shoulders drooped in defeat.

"This is very important," Thatcher insisted.

Her jaw fell still, as if the energy she put into her gum had to be transferred to arrange her thoughts. "Okay, yeah. I did see that woman you were asking about. She was in a big hurry to buy a ticket on the train that was about to leave."

"A ticket? Going where?"

"To San Francisco."

"San Francisco?" He muttered rhetorically, "Why on earth would she be going there?"

The young girl must have heard. "To be with her boyfriend."

"Her what7"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Tall, blond, dreamy. Look mister, I hate to be the one to break it to you --"

"A scar! Did he have a scar, here?" Thatcher touched his temple.

"So you know about him. I don't like getting in the middle of--"

She didn't get the chance to finish her words. The girl watched as the little Brit dashed across the street as fast as his gimpy leg would take him.

"Someone's been in my room!"

Lydia heard Alex's voice boom from the passageway. She squirmed out of the closet, finally able to breathe. Hed been so close -- his hand on the closet door, only inches away!

Lydia knew she had to move. She curled her head into the corridor and saw Alex up front --he had poor Clifford pinned up against the wall and was shouting accusations. She hoped it was enough of a distraction. With only a few steps she could disappear through the door that led to the next car.

Lydia bolted, thankful for the carpet that muffled her sturdy low heels. Just as she reached the door, a little boy burst through squealing with glee. A moment later his mother came running in chase. Lydia looked over her shoulder. Her eyes met Alex's. For an instant, there was fury in his face as he let go of Clifford. But then there was control.

He put a hand to the steward's collar and straightened it, then said something in a quiet voice. Lydia couldn't hear, but she put herself in his place. She imagined his upper school accent -- Look, old boyy I'm terribly sorry about all this. I'll go have a word with the young woman and straighten things out. Please lock my room for me, and see to it that no one else gets in. He began walking toward her.

Lydia burst through the door in a panic. Heads swiveled to gawk as she ran through the Pullmans. She looked back at the end of each car, but didn't see Alex. Lydia knew he would come. She kept moving, wanting to get as far away as possible, desperate for time to think. She slowed when she reached the day coach. There, one tiny set of eyes went straight to her -- the terrible wretch who'd been staring at her. Lydia looked for Tommy. He was gone.

She pressed on, her eyes straight ahead, but feeling the stranger's awful stare. She wondered again if he was working with Alex. He might be a German spy. He might be anything. She passed him and kept going, frantic to get away from them both. At the end of the car, a door led outside to the back platform. She looked through the window and saw Tommy having a smoke at the back railing. Thank God, she thought. Lydia rushed outside.

Tommy turned and smiled. "Well, hello." His voice was loud enough to overcome the clacking din of the train. Then his smile evaporated. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She didn't know what to say.

"Is that guy bothering you again? I had a little chat with him. He a slimy type, some kind of traveling salesman. But I set him straight."

"Oh, thank you, Tommy. Did he ... did he have an accent of any sort?"

"Accent?"

"Yes, you know, like a foreign accent?"

"Naw. He was straight Midwest. You want me to go lean on him some more?"

"No, no. I--"

The door burst open and Alex appeared. Lydia backed away to the iron railing on one side. He stood still for a moment, clearly gauging the situation. More than ever Lydia wanted to get away, but there was nowhere to go. The train was traveling at full speed, and when she looked over the railing it was a blur of rocks, gravel, and iron. She would never survive a jump.

It only took Alex a moment. He relaxed. He nodded to Tommy as if they were at a dinner party. Alex pulled out a cigarette case and effortlessly held it toward Lydia. As he did, there was something in his eye, a knowing look, a slight gesture toward Tommy. He was telling her something. She shook her head to the offering and suddenly understood. He was going to kill her, of course. That was a given. The question was whether it would be necessary to kill the soldier as well. He was allowing Lydia a chance to spare the boy.

Strangely, these thoughts made her realize something. She knew Alex, and was beginning to think like him. What if she screamed? Alex had already made the calculations. He had placed himself between her and Tommy. He would strike her down and throw her off the train. Tommy, being a soldier, wasn't trained to raise an alarm. He would naturally attack Alex. And he was no match. Alex was in complete control.

She leaned back against the railing and searched desperately for a way out. Looking ahead, she caught a glimpse of where the train was headed. She saw something that made her mind spin. If I can think like Alex, weigh every angle -- it might work.

"Tommy," she blurted, "this is my husband, Alex."

Alex raised an eyebrow. Tommy looked rather crestfallen, but put out a hand. Alex shook it.

"Tommy Moore. I'm headed out to the Pacific."

Alex smiled. The amiable Alex, hands deep in the pockets of his khaki pants. Moments ago he'd been rousting a porter -- now he was at his gregarious best. He said, "No more Nazis to worry about, eh?"

Lydia said, "Alex and I are on our honeymoon, aren't we darling?"

Alex nodded, the luckiest man alive.

"Congratulations," Tommy said, flicking his cigarette butt off the back of the train. He edged toward the door.

Lydia took another glance ahead. She needed another minute.

"Alex was in the war in Europe, weren't you darling? What was your unit?"

Alex hesitated. He knew she was up to something. "The Forty-eighth Transportation Regiment. Not quite the Eighty-second Airborne, but we played our part. Now, dear, I'd like to have a private word with you."

Lydia felt it happening. The front of the train had hit the steep hill. Lydia knew about trains. The speed at which they were traveling would be cut in half during the climb. Just a little longer.

Tommy had had enough. "It was good to meet you both." He disappeared into the coach.

Alex looked through the window. Hes making sure the coast is clear. Their own car was still level, not yet on the incline. The clanging of the wheels over the rail changed cadence, slowing like a clock that needed winding, nearing the end of its spring. Alex hadn't noticed it yet. She still needed more time.

"I had to find you," she blurted. "I had to see you again."

Alex stood at ease, a few steps away. He was completely confident -- a cat happy to toy with a cornered mouse. "You've always been hopeless, Lydia. How did you find me?"

"I remembered when you were looking at the map in the library. Your finger was on Santa Fe. And that Major Thatcher said you might come here. I had to try and warn you."

"Warn me?"

"They're looking for you everywhere."

Behind the steel eyes she saw his thoughts turning.

"Why, Lydia? Why are you here?"

She allowed her head a tilt. "Isn't it obvious? I love you, Alex."

There! She saw it. A shift in his gaze. His thoughts had lost focus. "The last time I saw you, I'd just sent you tumbling down a staircase," he argued.

"I know. You panicked, like I did when I ran from your room just now." She kept her gaze locked to Alex, not allowing him to concentrate on the surroundings. "And what you did to Edward, as awful as it was -- I know you did it so we could be together."

"You can't believe--" his eyes narrowed. "If you came here to warn me, then why were digging through my papers? Why were you in my room?"

Lydia's mind raced. Just a few more seconds. "Didn't you see the champagne? The two glasses? When I sat on the bed, the papers were there. I'm sorry if I messed them up."

Silence. A distracted gaze. The platform tilted slightly. They had reached the rise. Lydia moved quickly She vaulted over the railing and got a footing outside. Leaning back, her hands clung to the platform, stretching for every possible second. Below, the rail bed was a blur. She heard the wheels churning and grinding just below her feet. All of it was dangerous, but less so than the man on the platform.

Her action had frozen Alex. He hadn't expected it. They stared at one another for an instant before Alex understood. His blue eyes came sharp, their raw intensity issuing the first strike. The same eyes Edward would have seen.

Alex lunged, his speed catching her by surprise. One hand snagged her shoulder, snapping shut like a bear trap. She was hanging free, her feet still firm, pushing away, but Alex tearing and ripping from across the iron railing. A foot slipped loose and she saw the huge metal wheel spinning below. Lydia twisted wildly, not knowing where she would fall. Not caring. Just get away!

Lydia s other foot slipped, and her legs slammed against the frame of the car, inches from the wheels. Alex pulled and clawed from the other side, his fingers digging into her flesh. He refused to give up. Amid the clattering mechanical noise she heard the sound of fabric tearing. And then Lydia fell.

She crashed to the ground, tumbling and rolling. Limbs thrashed and flailed, scraping across gravel and down the incline of the rail bed. When it finally stopped, Lydia lay motionless, crumpled in a heap.

She felt pain in every sinew of her body. She tasted blood in her mouth. All of it proved the unlikely truth -- that she was still alive. Lydia forced her eyes open. Amid the dust, she saw the train a hundred feet away, climbing the hill. And she saw Alex, leaning on the railing, watching her intently.

Lydia wished she was closer, to see the look on his face. As the top of the train crested the hill, she spit out a mouthful of blood and moved. First an arm underneath, then a shift of a leg. The pain was awful, but using every reserve Lydia did it. In sheer defiance, she stood and stared at Alexander Braun.

Chapter 35.

The conductor gave his notice: "Winslow, Arizona, ten minutes!"

Braun would be ready. He had already apologized to the steward and, on hearing his side of the story, devised an explanation. He and his fiancee had just suffered their first row, and dear Lydia was presently brooding back in the day coach. She would come around soon.

There had been no alarms raised. Not yet. But Braun had to get off the train -- he was running through a minefield. Tommy, the steward -- and Lydia. Her perfume still lingered as he stuffed his belongings into his suitcase. The vision came again. Lydia, bloody and battered, standing by the track. Damny why cant I shake it?

It had been a stunning performance. I had to try and warn you . . . Isn't it obvious? I love youy Alex. He had listened like a fool as she'd waited for the train to slow, waited for her chance. She had known he wouldn't follow -- he had to stay with the train and the papers. A perfectly cunning deduction. Lydia. Witless, feeble Lydia! Braun slammed the suitcase shut, furious. But not because she'd gotten the better of him. He knew it was far more serious.

The train drew to a stop in a cloud of steam. Braun saw a station outside. The sign read: winslow arizona elevation: 4,940.

He got off the train and instantly went to work, driving away what had happened. He had to work fast. There were no other trains on the siding--a westbound freight would have been ideal. Outside, he saw a truck carrying rock. He could jump into the bed, but it might be headed anywhere. Echoes from Frau Schumann. Crowded places are best. He needed a population center, a place to get lost.

A bus was scheduled to leave in twenty minutes, bound eventually for Los Angeles. He found a timetable and mentally recorded every stop it would make on the way. Braun walked quickly across the street. In a gift: shop he found a map of Arizona. Braun studied it against the route he had just memorized. He could not stay on the bus long -- the authorities would surely track it down. But he had to leave now, and it seemed the only way.

Braun went back to the station and purchased a ticket all the way through to Los Angeles. He boarded the bus, which was nearly empty, and kept the suitcase close by. He vowed never to let the papers out of his sight again.

When the bus left the station, he closed his eyes. Braun tried to deconstruct everything, tried to make his actuary's appraisal of the events on the train. But the disturbing vision intruded. He saw her hanging outside the railing. He saw her fall to the rocks below. Braun had stood with a torn sleeve in one hand before rushing to the back. He watched Lydia tumble and roll like a rag doll, her body battering down the embankment. His hands had clutched the iron railing with a force that might have bent it. When Lydia finally stopped her twisting, turning plunge, she remained still. Perfectly still.

And then Braun had done the most unimaginable thing. The thing that had absolutely puzzled him ever since. To a God he had never believed in, he'd prayed that Lydia would survive. And when she stood -- wobbling, bleeding, but alive --he had felt the most indescribable joy.

A flurry of telephone calls ran between Michael Thatcher, Sargent Cole, and Tomas Jones. The local authorities caught up with the Western Express just outside Flagstaff, Arizona. It was a spot where Route 66 paralleled the rail line. Four police cruisers, the town's full complement, along with five officers frantically waving their arms, were enough to convince the engineer to apply his brakes.

The authorities searched the train for nearly an hour, giving particular interest to one first-class cabin. Interviews with the passengers and rail employees confirmed that a tall, blond man had in fact been on the train, but no one had seen him since Winslow. The officials also noted the absence of a young woman, identified as Lydia Murray, who was supposed to have been on board. Radio calls were made, and the information relayed by wire. The focus of the investigation quickly recentered thirty miles east, back in Winslow.