One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [102]
We jogged down the escalator to the underground trains, with one pulling up as we hit bottom. I ignored it, pulling Jennifer to the moving sidewalk in front of me.
“What are you doing? We get on that and we can be at the entrance in minutes.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s too risky. They pull the trigger on an alarm and that train’s going to stop, with us inside it and no way out. We need to run it to the end.”
We started walking like we were missing a plane, fast, but not fast enough to cause someone to stare. I noticed that the camera systems here in the tunnel were only clustered around the train entrances and exits.
Right after passing the escalators to Concourse C the trains ceased running, with an alert flashing that they were having mechanical issues.
“Good call,” Jennifer said. “Looks like you were right.”
“Yeah, but if the trains have stopped, we’re out of time. They know we’re loose. They’ll try to camouflage it for a couple of minutes to keep everyone calm, but eventually, this place is going to be covered in cops.”
As we moved toward Concourse B I saw the trains start to move again. Huh. What’s that about?
We reached the escalator entrance to the B Concourse just as another train stopped, exploding out with about twenty police officers. Oh, shit.
Instead of running past Concourse B, I pushed Jennifer to the escalator, going up into the concourse. Glancing back, I saw half of the force coming up with us, apparently not recognizing we were ahead of them. No pictures out yet. We reached the top and went left, away from the direction the police were headed. Unlike the tunnel, in the concourse the cameras looked like something out of a Vegas casino, one little dome sticking out of the ceiling every thirty feet. Shit.
I hugged the wall, attempting to cross the concourse to the down escalators on the far side, getting back to the tunnel while there was still a gap in the police presence. Before we reached it, a group of police crossed over, headed our way. I turned into an alcove, rotating in front of Jennifer and shielding her face with my body.
“Tell me when they’ve passed us. If they start walking toward us, the game is up.”
I saw Jennifer’s face blanch. “Shit,” she said. “One’s moving directly toward us. What do we do? Should we run?”
“Stay calm. If he’s headed to us, we’re done. Don’t assume that’s what he’s doing, though. We wait until he asks us a question.”
“He’s still coming. He’s walking right to us.”
“Okay . . . okay. Bend down and mess inside your bag. Anything to hide your face. Act like you’re looking for tickets or something.”
Squatting down, I began to rummage through my carry-on next to her. I could hear Jennifer muttering under her breath.
“Shit. I’m going to prison.... Mom’s going to love this.... Uncle’s fucking dead.... I’m a terrorist . . . the only man I know’s a nutcase. . . . All I try to do is the right thing.... Why does this stuff happen to me. . . . Who’d I piss off. . . .”
I saw the cop out of the corner of my eye. I waited for the tap on the shoulder. He moved right past me and kept going into the alcove. For the first time, I noticed it was a men’s room. Whew. Too close for comfort. I reached over to get Jennifer’s attention when I caught the tail end of her rambling.
“. . . Why don’t you just tie the fucker up butt-naked? Right here . . . get us out of this the same way you got us into it. . . .”
What a crybaby. “You going to bitch all day, or can we get the hell out of here?”
She snapped out of it, saw we weren’t under arrest, and looked up at me with a sheepish grin. I saw her eyes focus on the sign above my head.
“Yeah. He went in to take a piss. We should go before he’s done.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. Just letting off a little steam.”
I began walking down the concourse toward a restaurant, saying, “Well, you’ll have plenty of time for that, because we’re fucked. We can’t get out without getting to the far end, and I’m pretty sure there’s a platoon of cops at baggage claim by now. We need a way out that normal passengers