so hard that Robie thought he would leave his privates behind. But he gritted his teeth and clung to the woman. She rotated the throttle to maximum and roared off down the road.
“Where to?” Robie shouted in her ear as the wind whipped them both.
“Not here,” she yelled back.
They drove for what seemed like hours, and finally ditched the bike behind an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of a small town. They walked into the town, which was made up of decrepit buildings and mom-and-pop stores.
The sun was starting to rise. Robie looked over at Reel, now revealed in the coming dawn. She was dirty, disheveled. As was he.
She looked straight ahead, the anger on her face almost painful to see.
“I’m sorry about Gwen,” said Robie.
Reel didn’t answer him.
An Amtrak train station loomed ahead. It was just a tired-looking old brick building on a raised platform with a slender ribbon of track next to it. A few people were sitting on wooden benches waiting for their early morning ride to somewhere.
Reel went inside and paid cash for two tickets. She came back out and handed one to Robie.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Not here,” she said.
“You keep saying that. But it doesn’t really tell me anything.”
“I’m not prepared to have this discussion yet.”
“Then get prepared as soon as this ride is over,” said Robie.
He walked down the platform and leaned against the wall, looking in the direction from which they had come.
How did they follow me? How did they know?
There wasn’t anybody. I could swear there wasn’t anybody who could have known.
In his pocket was his Glock. He gripped it with one hand. He had a strong feeling that things were not safe yet.
He was still holding both the bag from the tunnel and his knapsack. He glanced over at Reel. She was just standing there next to the tracks.
Robie assumed she was thinking about Gwen lying dead back there.
Ten minutes later he heard the train coming. It came to a stop with a long screech of brakes and release of hydraulic pressure. He and Reel boarded the middle car.
This was not the Acela bullet train. The car looked like it had been in service since Amtrak was created in the early seventies.
They were the only passengers on this car. There was a single attendant, a sleepy-looking black man in a uniform that didn’t fit him very well. He yawned, took their tickets, stuck them to the back of their seats, and told them where the café car was located if they were hungry or thirsty.
“The conductor will be along at some point to take your tickets,” he said. “Enjoy the ride.”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Robie, while Reel just stared straight ahead.
As the train rolled out of the station the attendant walked up the aisle and disappeared into the next car, probably to make his spiel to the few passengers there.
Robie and Reel settled down in their seats, he at the window, she at the aisle. Robie had put both bags at his feet.
Minutes passed and he said, “So where are we going?”
“I’ve booked us through to Philly, but we can get off at any stop in between.”
“What’s in your bag besides grenades?”
“Things we might need.”
“Who was the old guy in the photo with you?”
“Friend of a friend.”
“Why not the friend?”
She glanced at him in mild reproach. “Too easy. If I’d done that, do you think they would have left the photo for you to see? They’re an intelligence agency, Robie, so you have to assume they have some degree of it to exercise.”
“So the friend?”
“Give me a few minutes. I’m trying to deal with the loss of another friend, maybe my last one.”
Robie was about to push her, but then something told him not to.
The loss of a friend. I can relate to that.
“Did you dig that tunnel?”
She shook her head. “It was already there. Maybe bootleggers. Maybe some criminal owned it and that was his escape hatch. When I bought the place and found it I made Cabin 17 my hideaway for that very reason.”
A voice called out softly, “Robie, over here.”
He glanced up. Reel was at the rear of the train car.
“We have company,” she said.
“Yeah, that one I’d figured out,” replied Robie. “Where did he come from?” he asked, gesturing to the dead man.
“Rear door. Advance guard, I guess.”